


Moirai

by Guixi



Series: The Eclipse of Morgan le Fay [1]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Hints of Claire/Jim, Hints of Strickler/Barbara, Interaction exploration, Lore tweaks, Nice Job Breaking It; Hero, Not focused on ships - Freeform, Season 1, Spoilers, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guixi/pseuds/Guixi
Summary: After stealing the Skathe-Hrün from Angor Rot, Claire learns that she gained more than just a valuable weapon: the assassin's attention, too.





	1. A Shift in Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, after much time in hiatus, I am writing a new story. I enjoyed the second season of Trollhunters a lot, and I'm glad that from the looks of things we'll be getting S3. In any case, this story actually begin many months ago when I watched the first season. I got so far as Strickler's and Angor's conversation before I stopped. So the writing might seem a little disconnected because of that. Given the implications of the S2 ending (I won't spoil!) then, I think it's fitting that these characters should interact. This is set during Season 1, after Claire obtains the Shadowstaff. Eventual spoilers. This is also kind of an AU past that episode as well.
> 
> All I can say is.. don't expect a consistent updating schedule. I am notoriously slow. 
> 
> This story is also reuploaded on FF under the same author name. There might be slight tweaks in plot between the two, as AO3 gets the raw file, and FF gets one that is re-edited. I try to copy and changes I may make, but word choices might be different.

The muted monochrome void encompassed them both like the great sea, deafening in it's magnitude. To the human it felt as if the sheer pressure of the portal's gateway was crushing her; collapsing her ribs, squeezing her heart and lungs and she desperately, ever so desperately held her breath. The flesh of her knuckles – bone white – nails digging deeply into palms and a thin trickle of blood disappeared into the nothing; yet even still she gripped the ridged staff tighter. An explosion of fear erupted from the pit of her stomach as through the incomprehensible vastness of it all, twin orange eyes of him burned into her.

It was the first time Angor Rot's gaze landed on hers – attention undivided between troll and Trollhunters, now solely hers; and that was greater than any faux sense of water pressure the portal's single tone around her as he now saw and registered her _**existence**_. It was enough to send any lesser mortal reeling or to be reduced to a quivering mess, and Claire's reward for holding it for a second was roughened stone in the gut; forcing the wind out of her and her grip to falter.

Reality caught up with her ( _the stone, Claire, the stone!_ ) and she reared back; striking the ancient assassin across the face with a hefty right hook. She noted in the half second they were both swept by the strange gravity of the plane that, for a being made of mostly rock it was more like the smooth surface; soft enough that her bones did not break nor any discomfort. Now floating and away from him, she tried to swim to the drifting staff.

Having her back turned to Angor was a fact that was bouncing in her mind; making her skin flush with fearful goosebumps and sweat to slick the palms of her hands. He still had the dagger laced with Creeper's Sun, a poison that could turn anything to stone – including her. She dreaded to know that there was more to the troll than at first glance; they had ( or more accurately, the Trollhunter ) experienced but a taste of his physical prowess. The extent of what he was capable of was still solidly unknown. What was holding him back from throwing the dagger?

_He isn't interested in fighting you_ , she reminded herself. His game lie with Jim Lake Jr., the first human Trollhunter. A decidedly more _interesting_ prey than a school-girl abnormally well-versed in Trollish culture. Perhaps she should never have set herself apart from the background noise that threatened the balance between hunter and game; for her actions would surely gain her some unwanted attention.

Claire's fingertips were inches away from the staff; yet just before she could snatch her ticket out of the portal's limbo, she was unceremoniously shoved down; silent gasp slipping from her. A blow that, under a proper field of gravity would certainly have broken her spine, yet they both aimlessly floated, the staff in sights. The fire in her lungs urged her to continue despite her blurring vision, and gathering her bearings she shot forward like a rocket in one powerful stroke, grasping the cane just before Angor did.

She could feel herself begin to tug upwards even before her subconscious powered the artefact, and she was allowed to stare hopelessly at the assassin's shrinking form before the staff guided her to safety, and within a blink she lay flat on the ground; ears pounding and gulping greedy breaths of air. The voices of her friends were but white noise against the backdrop of bodies rushing all around her, yet eventually her wits returned one by one.

She didn't get the killstone. Her gaze slowly dropped to the staff still tightly held like it was her life support – she failed, yet still managed to gain quite the powerful tool, and a powerful enemy.

 

The time he had to find out about the new prey entering his playing field was brief, but he was a master hunter, even if human game was new and exhilarating, it was different enough to hold his interest ( much to his targets misfortune, of course. ) and invest time in researching and studying this exciting development. Information was easy to come by to those who knew how to look for it – and the correct information at that – but nevertheless he gathered from sources first.

“Who is the Trollhunter's consort?”

He'd been nonchalantly carving another effigy for his golems when he asked the ringbearer. Angor Rot was not a troll to be caught off guard, though his carving knife did stall for half a second when the bearer ungracefully choked on his tea, clearly finding his _innocuous_ question to be unexpected at least, and downright inappropriate at worst.

“I beg your pardon?” the changeling spoke, still buffering a cough or two and clearing his throat before it dawned on him what the ancient creature meant. It didn't escape Angor's notice ( nothing did, ) when a muted flash of protectiveness streaked across the impure's eyes. She was a student of his first and although he had no personal disagreement with her, or Tobias for that matter, the fact they stood with the young Atlas was … unfortunate, to say the least.

“Oh – you are referring to miss Nuñez. You _may_ want to brush up on your linguistics, as I can assure you they are too young to even think about marriage. In any case, she is a straight A student of mine, with no competition of being the most competent of the young Atlas' band of friends. Her grasp on our culture --”

“Mine,” interrupted Angor. “Not yours, half-breed.”

The principals eyes twitched, the implication not lost on him. Reviled by his own kin, and always lying to mankind did not make for happy reminders. He briskly corrected himself. “On _**troll**_ culture is remarkable. I do have to wonder why the sudden interest. I hope there is no need to remind you who is the Trollhunter and as clever as Claire is, she is not your target.”

The troll was silent at first, fletching a useless piece of stone off from the rough form of the golem doll. The human girl became his target when she was impudent enough to believe herself worthy of Skathe-Hrün. The _Shadowstaff_ in their disgustingly confusing language. Yet other possibilities swirled in his mind. The fleshbag clearly held **some** importance or influence over the Trollhunter and the rest of his friends, flesh and stone alike. From his observations, he could determine that James Lake Jr. was plagued with too much emotional investment. One of many instruments for Angor Rot to use.

Even still, there was one singular thought drifting in his mind that he could utilise the girl for his own needs. He had to know how involved with the Trollhunter she was – to use him as leverage against her to gain the ring and ultimately, his soul back.

Not a single moment had passed in his musings before he spoke up again, voice like dark carved onyx, rumbling like an aftershock that had struck fear into the hearts of human and trollkind alike. “The girl. This.. Claire Nuñez,” His eyes narrowed a little at how unimpressive such a name sounded. Names had purpose. They had power.. and one with that name now held his staff. “Who is she to the Trollhunter?”

Strickler pursed his lips when it became apparent Angor hadn't dropped his bizarre line of questioning about the girl, though taking a moment to ponder he thought he understood where it was going. He agreed to let Angor work on his own terms to ensure the boy's death, so this must simply be a part of a plan he was concocting in the making. It was exhilarating to be able to witness a master assassin weave the threads of death, especially when it was happening right in front of him. 

“They have grown rather close as of late, now that she is aware of the other world under her feet.” he informs, placing his unfinished tea down to steeple his fingers, knowing that the inferna copula glinted in the light of his desk-lamp. “I cannot say for exact certainty the extent of their friendship, other than it _is_ a recent development. The boy had been smitten with her for the majority of the school semester, and she hadn't even known much about him or even his full name until the twilight events of Bular's doom.”

The changeling's brow perked when he heard Angor's discontent grumbling. He thought they had more than enough leverage with his fate tied to Barbara, whom was James' mother.

“But now.. she would do anything for him?”

“Within reason..” Strickler eyed him carefully. The conversation held a great distaste in his mouth, and he contemplated ordering the troll to focus on the Trollhunter. Anything that involved Claire extensively could somehow threaten his kin, NotEnrique during his tenure as pretending to be her baby brother. Instead, he settled for informing him under the guise of a reminder. “She cannot get her brother back from the Darklands without the Trollhunter nor the assistance of Trolls. It wouldn't be in her best interest to sacrifice her friendship or loyalty _**now**_.”

A pause, before he added. “A pity she will  _**never** _ get her brother back, however. I cannot allow such harm to befall ...”

Angor Rot tuned out once the changeling had begun spewing his speech of his kind. He had no love for changelings, and to be bound to one because of the ring was humiliation of the greatest kind. He chipped away another flaw to his stone golem, with a gruesome grin settling over his stone face. Perhaps soon he would not have to worry about Stricklander and his petty powerplays. Soon, he could be  _ free _ .

 

Claire felt like she was in a lucid dream. Ever since their excursion in the marshlands and being in that unfamiliar plane created by Angor's staff, she hadn't been able to shake the feeling of dizziness, nor the way of how his eyes pierced into her. Eventually, she sighed and muttered for her to get ahold of herself: what else could she have done? He was escaping with the killstone. He still had it, but at least she did secure them a weapon.

.. that she had no idea to use.

“Look on the bright side, Claire.” she whispered under her breath, staring at the metal hilt of the staff which had retracted on it's own. “At least this means Angor doesn't have the teleporting staff anymore. Or whatever else it could do, and.. and _I'm talking to myself._ ”

Shaking her head, she vowed she needed to have some girl time to herseslf, possibly with Darci as well. It was long overdue since she met up with her female friends and there had been far too many unanswered calls and texts on her behalf. She knew she had to meet with them at least once before any more suspicion grew. Although that wasn't to say she hadn't enjoyed the time spent with Jim, or even Tobias. If her friends asked her at the start of the school year if she could see her spending so much time with them she'd have called them crazy.

A fond smile tugged at her lips as she thought of Jim. Who, even beyond his cute, dorky smile, his infectuous charm: had a good heart. She truly believed his promise that he'd get her bro---

Wait. Did she just think his smile was cute? She  _ definitely _ needs some time to herself.

Feeling marginally better at her playful chastising about Jim, she slugged up the steps of her home towards her bedroom. She knew her parents were already fast asleep as caring for a baby often drained their energy. A scowl broke over her face at the thought of NotEnrique. At least he hadn't harmed either parent, merely just kept them exhausted during the rare times they didn't ask her to babysit. If he hurt them.. that would be the last straw for her.

Even if it seemed that he genuinely enjoyed playing the part of being a baby. Or more specifically being with a family... No, she dismissed the idea.

Opening her room, she shuddered the second she stepped in. It felt like a blizzard had passed inside, given how cold it was. The window was shut, the curtains drawn, however. Claire thought little of it and shut the door with the nudge of her foot as she stepped towards her bed, collapsing onto it. A second of respite passed when her thoughts once again nagged at her regarding the marshlands and her brief trip in the world between worlds.

“Ugh.” she proclaimed, gaze drawing from the ceiling to glare at the handle of the staff, shaking it to no avail. “What was I even thinking? Yeah, run at the troll assassin that even AAARRRGGHH!!! couldn't hold off.”

She held her cold glare to the staff, before it wandered towards the dark black-blue bruise on her knuckles. She gasped softly, then groaned shortly after. Right, she'd punched Angor's cheek. It was still stone, no matter how unlike it felt at the time. Maybe the void messed up her reception to the pain. With a huff, she rose from the bed towards her dressed, staring gloomily at the reflection of herself, whom held a look just as sour.

“You can't get Enrique back without your limbs.. or life,” she told, her reflection mimicking her words back silently. “So tomorrow you're going to the Forge to figure this dumb staff out. You're not letting Jim fight all your battles.”

Claire finished her peptalk with conviction, nodding slowly when she was satisfied. Setting the metal hilt onto the desk, she unclipped her hair and let it free, wiped what minimal makeup was applied with a cotton pad until something in the mirror caught her eye. They had since adjusted in the lowlight of her room, yet she could've sworn something glinted. Perhaps a car drove by with the lights on? A very.. silent car..?

Anticipation crawled on the back of her neck like the unsettling cold of her room, one hand drifting to the hilt slowly, fingers curling around it. She ignored the fact it felt different under her trepidation, like a distant hum of power she couldn't quite tap. Claire remained completely still, inspecting the mirror for movements behind her. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just a typical girl's room with a dark figure that possessed burning orange eyes in the corner of--

A startled yelp of fear ripped from her throat as she swung round, staff hilt in hand. The spike of fear powered the staff, letting the structure spring forth, completed. Claire thought with apprehension that at least it worked when it was needed, even if the staff felt like it was feeding off of her fear. If that abated it or fuelled it, she isn't sure. She pointed the prongs at Angor Rot, breathing uneven as a million things ran into her mind, yet the splutter of indignation was the one that slipped out quite loudly; “What – the  _**hell** _ !”

“Claire, honey.. ?” a tired voice drifted from out of her room. Her mother's. Claire swallowed thickly, eyes never once leaving the troll's form as he stepped surprisingly silent forth, advancing like a panther that sized it's next kill. She forced her voice to be as composed as it could be before speaking tentatively, though it wavered a little.

“I'm fine mom!” she followed Angor with the staff, stepping away to follow his prowling circle before he could close the distance. The dagger laced with poison was at his hip. It wouldn't take much effort for him to draw it and strike now, but the fact that he waited weighed on her. Perhaps he was just letting her stew in her fear. “ – I'm just, watching a scary movie. I'll, uh, turn it off and go to bed now. Love you.”

She heard distinct mumbling of the same sentiment, a bead of sweat trickling from her forehead at the sight of the assassin's fanged grin. He didn't seem afraid of the staff that she pointed at him. Why would he be? She didn't know how to use it.

_ Not it's powers at least. _ She thought.  _ But that workshop at school with the quarterstaff is going to pay off.. _

“Claire,” the troll began and she hated the way his voice sounded like he was executing an order for her death. He might as well be, given his presence. Angor stopped his circling to take a direct step forth, though halted amusingly when she shoved the staff forward defensively. Any closer and she might've gored him.

“Don't you _dare_ take one step closer. Or even say my name, because it's _beyond_ creepy.” She let her gaze wonder just half a moment to the phone on her bed. If she could contact Jim..

“What will you do?” Claire's lips pulled back into a snarl of discontent when she noted that he sounded amused in asking so, even more when he added after a pause; “ _ **Claire**_ _.”_ He stopped in the centre of her room, even as she continued to circle uncertainly. He followed her with unblinking eyes, tenor a rumbling, earthly tremor of hatred and spite. “You don't know how to use the Skathe-Hrün. Tell me, do you even know _why_ it was summoned when you turned to face me?”

Why hadn't he attacked her yet? Her brows furrowed, taking her step back towards the bed. “You're a troll of ancient magic and power. This staff is probably of the same origin, so who knows? Maybe it popped out because it sensed you, or something.”

“A reasonable deduction..” Had she been a Troll, her logic on what little knowledge she had to go on would've made her an good tracker. But he was the difference between _great_ and _excellent_. “But wrong. You're afraid, girl. Your fear called to the staff. Empowered it. Your negative emotions is it's fuel.”

She said nothing, adjusting her grip on the staff as she contemplated his words. She didn't know why he was telling this to her, other than to rub it in her face that she didn't know before claiming another trophy from his hunt of the Trollhunters. Indeed, the staff felt different in her hands than when she had been composed, like a silent wailing in her ears to give into her dread and let hopelessness overshadow her. Deciding she'd rather not be idle to figure out why he was taking so long to do anything, she made a dive for her bed.

Her fingertips barely brushed the touchscreen of her phone when Angor lunged forward to seize her arm. She saw the lockscreen ask for her password before the device's powersaving kicked in. Cursing under her breath, she felt herself be pulled back and away. Struggling against his grip was a fool's errand, but she wouldn't be limp as he dragged her. She kicked behind her to no avail, but it was only when the butt of the staff ploughed into his gut did she hear a grunt and feel his grip weaken.

Claire made a break for her phone again, this time managing to grab it in the short time it took for Angor to recover. Her fingers fumbled to input the password, but cried out in alarm when the assassin struck the phone out of her hands and seized her throat. The staff clattered to the floor as she dug her nails into his hand, clawing at him. He applied just a touch more pressure to her windpipe to quell her attempts, granting her relief when she stopped. She gasped for air, but his grip wasn't any less painful.

“Think, girl!” he growled, shaking her just a touch as he did so. “If I wanted you dead right now, you would've been so _**long**_ before you had the chance to think about the ramifications of gaining my attention.”

“Then why haven't you killed me?!” she hissed back in turn, legs weakly kicking out from under her. She was thankful he hadn't done so, but it hadn't done much to ease her fear. “What do you want?”

Angor tossed her unceremoniously to the wall. Her back hit it and an elongated groan of pain left her when she thumped to the floor, head nearly hitting the frame of her bed. She used it to help herself up, grimacing when he picked up the staff.. only to then toss it towards her. She blinked owlishly, reflex alone catching it and leaning heavily on it as supporting her own weight earned much protest from her spine. The troll scrutinized her intensely, before his grin slowly returned. The fear accumulated into bedrock into her stomach when he spoke.

“We share a common goal … _**revenge**_.”


	2. Propositions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angor Rot offers a choice. Jim and Tobias are left in the dark. Strickler grows suspicious, and Claire just wants sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although is based in America, I only have knowledge of the UK school system, hence the brief mention of A-levels / Sixth Form which is basically study at late 16+ or college. I see Claire, Jim and Tobes as being 16.

Claire managed to convince Angor to move outside with her, to her parent's backyard, every step feeling like her legs were lead. Her mounting fear of the situation hadn't lifted in the slightest, even though she had his rough assurance that he wasn't going to kill her. _Yet_ , she thought. _**Yet**_. Regardless, the last thing she wanted to do was wake her parents up, or worse: NotEnrique and having the issue of explaining to them about his presence and the other world. At the very least, the assassin appreciated the discretion she wanted and in hindsight, she enjoyed the open free space the garden provided rather than the small room. She wanted as much distance between herself and Angor as possible. The entirety of Arcadia was a nice start, but she'd have to settle for the yard.

His words haunted her. Beyond comprehending the fact that he seemed to think they share a goal, with that goal being revenge of all things was unsettling at _best_ , and down right terrifying at worse. Though thankfully his passing comment that if she got any more afraid she might open up a portal the size of her house was enough to replace some of her fear with irked anger. She decided not to rise to the bait. She was better than that.

“Okay..” she wheezed, eyes briefly closing, letting the night's air cool her down. The grip on the staff was tight enough that she was sure it left imprints in her hand. She made a point of standing behind the wooden patio set, as if the pieces of garden furniture could offer any sort of buffer between the two. Angor Rot was displaying an extraordinary amount of patience, though she supposed it was a necessary quality to have as an assassin. His arms were folded, head inclined downwards to her as he stood quite a few feet taller.

It was the first time Claire was able to take in his appearance that wasn't racked with a fight-or-flight's adrenaline. Given what she knew read of troll culture, he'd be impressive to his kind, despite the cracks in stone-like skin that gave away his age. His horns hadn't dulled, neither had his vicious fangs, though he seemed to have fossilized plant life that stuck to his body like ashen, engorged roots. The gold of what little armour he did wear seemed to have lost it's shine, and fragments of his body were carved inwards to reveal the glint of blue living stone within.

“..Okay,” she repeated, running a hand through the frazzled locks of black and blue-dyed hair, collecting her thoughts as her gaze briefly crossed to the Shadowstaff before it returned to him. “What makes you think that we have _anything_ in common? How does your revenge over Jim or the Trollhunters – ”

“My quarrel is not with the fleshbag Hunter.” he gruffly intoned, but kept a lid on his anger. Perhaps she'd yet to stumble across his kind in her scouring of Troll culture. Or, likely, it was lost to history. Nothing but dust. “ – But with the _impure_. I believe, he and your Trollhunter do not see eye to eye.”

“Jim hates Strickler's guts.” A pause. “I don't understand how he's your enemy as well. Didn't he free you?”

“Yes...” He noted the way the staff ever so subtly inched to point at him when his voice dipped into an exasperated, furious growl. She was, if nothing else, exceptionally cautious. A lesser hunter would mock her fear-driven action, but he appraised her need of survival. An assassin cannot kill if they are dead, after all. “Make no mistake, my servitude to him is not out of _choice_. He wields the Inferna Copula.”

“The Inferna..” she trailed off, before her eyes widened in surprise. She'd took note of it when Strickler had returned as principal that he seemed to be adorning a strange ring. She got a cursory glance at the rune emblazoned on it's stone surface when he'd approached them to mock Jim, and translating it's meaning crossed more into wizardry than it did Trollish language. “Of course! The ring.. I _knew_ that thing was not his ' _mid-life crisis fashion statement_ ' as Tobes said. Trolls don't even enter that until four-hundred and forty five!”

“You are smarter than you look,” the troll sardonically commented, his grin unfeeling. He had been right on his instinct to seek her out first, and it seemed Strickler's wary warning of her knowledge had not been theatrically overestimated. He stepped towards the patio set, which jumped Claire into action, staff raised without a moment hesitance. He chuckled, arms unfolded and gestured towards her. “As long as Stricklander holds the ring, I am bound to his whim, which includes eliminating your.. _friend_.”

“ – And given the fact you're here, It's not something you can solve yourself.” she assessed with a grimace, staff lowering back to the tabletop as Angor made no further movement. Something just didn't add up though, and her furrowed look finally met his piercing gaze unflinchingly for the first time he'd made himself known. “Why come to me? I know Jim might not have appreciated the wakeup call,” She forced the smile that threatened to appear on her face away. The doofus was likely snoring, unaware of what was happening.. “But if you give him enough time, I'm sure he'd understand and begrudgingly help you.”

“I retract my statement.”

Claire frowned, confused when Angor elaborated; “Do you honestly believe the impure would allow me to converse with the fleshbag and conspire my freedom? No, I must hunt a Trollhunter. But you.. you, are not one.”

“Well, I don't wield the amulet but – ”

“The changeling spends the most time with the boy, being attached to his matron. Even if I could enlist his help, my plans would be discovered and my infuriating leash tightened more than it already is.” Something he plans to sever entirely, even if it meant cutting the impure's limb straight off. “Stricklander, however, would not expect much from you.”

“I am not sure about that.” She surprised herself with how flat and cynical her tone had came out. Claire cleared her voice, following up with something a bit more neutral. “He kind of orchestrated the kidnapping of my brother. If there is anyone he expects someone to try something, it's me. I just can't exactly march into his office and beat the crap out of him.” Especially now given his interlinked fate with Jim's mother..

“Although..” she hesitated, gaze naturally drawn away to the ground, bottom lip briefly bit. “.. I guess he's kinda preoccupied with Jim and his mom..”

Claire halted, shaking her head. Was she seriously considering this, without even telling Jim? There's no doubt in her mind that if she did tell him, he'd do everything in his power to secure the ring, to force Angor Rot to remove the enchantment he put in place. Something she doubted the ancient creature would not enjoy under the ring's influence. He was impulsive when it came towards doing the right thing, that he got himself hurt many times in the process. Sometimes, not physically.

“I can't believe I'm even entertaining this, but – what's stopping you from trying to kill Jim or attack Trollmarket even after I get the ring from Strickler? I don't know your goals. Your ambitions. Maybe keeping you under Strickler's control is for the best, 'cause we don't want to know what you're like free.”

Something about her comment seemed to strike a nerve, because a snarl bloomed across Angor Rot's face and he thrust forward, swiping for her. Claire wasn't going to be throttled again – her throat was still sore from the last time he got a hold of her – and swung the staff forward, smacking his advance back. Twisting the staff around to keep her momentum, she pointed the prongs forward in defence once again, breath heaving momentarily as she could feel her rush of battle approaching.

Thankfully, Angor did not make a second attempt, claws digging into the wood table's surface, body lurched over to lean closer, voice dipping so low that it took Claire a moment to decipher he was still speaking English, and not some accursed Troll language. “ – What other option do you have, girl?! Are you content to watch your friend be torn to shreds and his family ruined as you sit idle? Doing nothing as you let him fight all of your troubles?”

Claire bristled.

“Would you rather him do what I have asked of you as you say, let me free the fate that binds his matron to Strickler so that he may kill him – ending the one possible chance at recovering your brother that you have?”

“That's – That's not true, he can't be –” she tried to protest, but no matter what, Angor swept in to silence her.

“You have _no_ reason to trust me.” He could understand her trepidation, but his frown clearly proved he had no care for it. “But you have no other choices, and Strickler's patience is not as formidable as mine. I may be your last hope of ever seeing your true brother again.”

A tense silence settled over the two like the heavy atmosphere of an encroaching storm, yellow-orange fire of eyes boring into brown earthly ones. Neither one moved, or made further comment. A hunter and prey staring down at each other, waiting for that hair trigger moment. Claire curled her fingers around the staff tighter, the black petrified wood still humming in her ears, before the bark drained to look almost white the more her emotions cooled. Surprisingly, she gained her calm in moments like these.

Truthfully, Angor knew it was a gambit to bring up her brother. He had no desire to venture into the Darklands and to face the imprisoned Gunmar. But he knew it was one of his only chances of getting her to help him, by manipulating her love for her family.. and for the Trollhunter.

Angor Rot leaned away from the table, rising to his full height, arms folding, indignation replaced with a calm, cruel resolve. “I will give you one day to contemplate your decision and leave Skathe-Hrün in your possession a moment longer. But upon sundown, if you decline assisting me, I will take it back by _force_ and you will get a front row seat to your Trollhunter's execution.”

He moved away, conversation over, though he did stop to look over his shoulder to impart his last words.

“I trust that you will make the correct decision, little huntress.”

* * *

 

Needless to say, Claire didn't get any sleep.

Even NotEnrique had quietened down his usual theatrics when she'd entered looking like a shadow of death. He tried to quip at her expense, make a joke at it, but without her even reacting, they all fell flat. He looked a touch concerned, but thought himself too tough to ask, so hadn't made much of a fuss when she cleared the pretend mess he made of the baby's toys.

When she arrived at school, Jim was like a homing beacon to her frayed nerves, his gaze trained to her. She can't believe it only took until now to appreciate how soft it was, how gently he gained attention not out of command, or fear, but admiration. He jogged up to Claire with Toby not far behind. He didn't make much of a fuss when his hand clasped over her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“Claire, are you alright?” Followed by Toby's helpful; “Yeah! You look awful.”

“Thanks Tobes.” she exasperatedly commented, pushing the blue locks of hair of her fringe out of her face before returning Jim's smile, once he was finished glaring at Tobias' embarrassed face. “I'm fine, Jim, I just..”

“It's that stick.” wrongfully deducted their friend, brows furrowed in suspicion, pudgy finger jabbed at her as if he was accusing her of something, which, given his tone of conviction, may as well have been. “It's obviously super evil, you stole it off of Rot-face! And now, it's like, feeding off of your life-force! And now you're going to become a ZOMBIE! Who is under Rot-face's command!”

Jim and Claire exchanged a look. The latter was merely surprised how more accurate of a guess Tobias' had been over hers, ignoring the spiel of zombies.

“If you'd let me finish,” she grounded out. “ – It was just.. NotEnrique acting out. He's really been difficult and after our trip to the marshlands. Probably to make up for lost torments, huh.” She laughed, which they joined in, though she sobered up quickly, thoughts turning to the previous night. The bell rang, which signalled that they better hustle.

They begun walking towards their algebra class, thankfully avoiding Steve, whom was more preoccupied with bullying Pepperjack over something or another. They chatted aimlessly, keeping their conversations focused to school activities as any number of milling students now could eavesdrop, either intentionally or not. They rounded the corner, with Jim immediately letting out a groan of distress when he spotted Strickler's smugly smiling face pacing towards them.

“Ugh.” he voiced, which his friends agreed, though Claire noticed it sounded extra aggrieved. He didn't need prompting to explain briefly; “Strickler was 'round my house again last night. He put on this whole father-figure act to me in front of my mom. He even called me _son_ in that old guy way _._ ”

“That's so gross,” Tobias noted with equal vocal dislike. “I mean, how do they even – ”

“Okay, I'm not letting you finish that sentence Tobes, because I just imagined the worst thing possible and I'm kinda throwing up in my mouth a little.”

“Ah, good morning, young Atlas. My compliments to the chef, the dinner he prepared for your mother and I last night was exemplary.” the Principal stated once he was close enough, voice loud so that any student lingering could overhear. Judging by the snickers and gossipy whispers, they absolutely did. Jim's frown further spread his smirk.

“I'll be sure to pass them along.” he grumbled, aware that he had been the chef and he had been so, _**so**_ tempted to spit in Strickler's food. Alas, him discovering it and further manipulating his mother away from him would not have been great. “If you don't mind.. sir,” he gritted the word out. “My friends and I have algebra, and we wouldn't want to get detention now, would we?”

“Absolutely not,” he blithely agreed. “You and Tobias may run along to class. I require Miss Nuñez for a moment.”

Claire opened her mouth, shock filling her, but Jim reacted far quicker than she'd time to comment, stepping forward daringly, as if briefly forgetting where they were. The gossip turned to quietened confusion as dorky Jimbo suddenly looked brave. She couldn't help the small smile on her face at how protective he got, regardless of appearances.

“Don't you even _**dare**_.” The deadly quiet of his tone even brought Strickler to perk a brow, fingers steeped in front of him as he regarded the teen like he was looking down the end of his nose. He laughed shortly after, despite Jim continuing. “Anything you say to her can be said to me.”

“My, as touching as it is to hear how much you want to protect the integrity of Claire's school record, I can assure you that the chat, while confidential from other students, is utterly benign.” He gazed long and hard at Jim, watching as the boy looked around them, as if suddenly remembering they were still in an educational institute. His clenched fist unfurled, and back was the awkward, skinny-legged teen than the brief glimpse of a willing hero all too happy to throw himself into danger for others. Strickler relaxed a margin, too.

“It's okay, Jim.” soothed Claire, resting a hand on his arm. Jim's defence dropped entirely the moment she did, his head turning to her imploringly. She squeezed his arm, offering a smile. “Copy some extra notes for me so I can catch up what I miss.”

“Claire..” Tobias pitched in, though was silenced the same.

“You too, Tobes. Might actually get you to study once, huh?” They cracked a smile that dropped shortly after once Strickler cleared his throat. Parting ways, Claire only briefly glanced back to see the dour looks on her friends faces.

She doubted whatever Strickler wanted to talk to her about, was good.

 

The walk from the hallway to Strickler's office felt like death's row. Every student they passed glanced at them, more so the fact it was Claire heading towards that way during class hours. She was just he purposefully took the long way just so he could milk her discomfort at the pupils attention to her impending reprimand. It likely didn't help she was glaring holes into the back of his head. Her attitude just reeked of troublemaker getting caught.

He opened the door, holding it open for her and gesturing for her to enter. He was the epitome of arrogance, oozing a fake confidence that was stifling to be around. _No wonder why Angor Rot wants to be out of his company_ , she thought bitterly, then inwardly slapped herself for thinking such a thing. O _kay, you do_ _ **not**_ _need to be thinking about Rot-face right about now._ A pause. _I can't believe one of Tobes' nicknames stuck.._

Somehow, even though she'd entered first, Strickler in a few brisk strides had pulled the visitor's chair back for her to sit in, as if he actually cared to keep up his act of chivalry even though they were alone from prying eyes and listening ears. She stalked towards the chair, sinking into it gloomily and placing her bag on her lap. From her tempered anger alone she knew the hilt to be in there.

He circled to the other side of the desk, sitting in the office chair, hands clasped in front of him, a fake smile plastered on his face.

“You know, I find it criminal that we hardly conversed. You are a brilliant student.” he began with a touch of praise, but she knew better. Charm, sophistication, reaching out to the socially awkward, gently shepherding them towards him. It was no wonder Jim had taken such a shine on him before he was aware of anything, though Claire was anything but _awkward_. She wouldn't be one his misguided pawns.

“With your knowledge on..” He pretended to look for the right word. “Ancient history, I would've been more than happy to be your professor during your A-levels. Perhaps let you become my aide.”

Claire didn't want to rock the boat or heaven forbid anger Strickler. The last thing she needed was more attention from their enemies. So she offered a courtesy smile and did what her mother would do in the face of a political opponent she'd rather verbally slaughter: kill with politeness. “If things had been different, Mr. Strickler, I might've liked that. Your style of teaching is easy to follow. Although I won't be pursuing History as one of my A-levels.”

He hadn't expected that, if the flicker in his eyes was anything to go by, but he recovered swiftly with a vague gesture of the hand. “Yes, well. A true shame, you excel in it.” His look grew darker as he moved to shift the topic to other matters, though she couldn't help but see some underlining.. concern, under it? Maybe she was seeing things..

“Tell me, how was your night? I, and the rest of the student body no doubt, couldn't help but notice the lack of sleep. I am simply concerned, especially given that frightful bruise on your knuckles.”

Did she bother bringing up the elephant in the room that was so large it threatened to leave her lips as a blunt question? Had Strickler lost his mind to the mask of his lying and truly thought he was the principal? Or was there deeper meaning to the questions? Whatever the case, Claire was sure of one thing: spending more time in his presence would not be wise, so she kept her answers as curt and informative as she lied.

“To be honest with you, it was just a nightmare.” she rose her shoulders up in a shrug. “I've never gotten one before, so it just spooked me out and I stayed up all night.. as for the bruise, I was practising gymnastics and injured myself. Hit my knuckle on the pole as I was trying to grab it.”

“Hm.”

She watched him raise from his chair, taking that pen she knew was his changeling key, hearing the faint sounds of the lid clicking as it opened and closed it, back turned to her as he stared at the bookcase behind him. Contemplating her answer, it seemed logical. No doubt such a thing plagued both Jim and Tobias with the reality of their duty. It was only a matter of time before it effected Clair in any serious way.

“And you were not entertaining any guests, correct?”

“That's a little personal, Mr. Strickler.”

He turned to look at her, scrutinizing for the longest moment, before offering a charming smile. “Of course, my apologises.” He pauses, then his face softens in the way one made it to seem less threatening, but with Strickler it felt nothing but artificial calculation and false promises. “If I may be frank, Claire, although my issues revolve around the Trollhunter, that animosity does not necessarily extend to his friends.”

His hand found rest on her shoulder and her spine went rigid. Instinct made her glance to confirm the Inferna Copula was right there. On his hand, at her shoulder. It was so close, she thought she could feel the phantom heat of ancient magic waver off of it. Though her thoughts were not reviled by his politician's touch, but rather the fact he had the gall to believe she would ever feel anything less than hatred towards him for the hell he put Jim through. But through her displeasure she knew it was just another one of his slimy tactics to make her underestimate him. Think he was dumb, so that he'd ultimately have an advantage somewhere down the line.

Her fake smile returned. “I will keep that in mind, Mr. Strickler. Whilst I am grateful of your concern, I would like to return to class before Jim thinks you've thrown me to a pit of goblins.”

He chuckled at that, and every beat of laughter made her want to punch him. _Think of_ _Barbara_..

Strickler patted her shoulder and returned to his place at the desk. “Indeed! Off you go.” She rose to leave, though he halted her with a noise, amusement lacing his tone when he added; “Oh, do be sure to tell Jim that I will be visiting his mother again tonight. She had been rather enamored with me the night before, how could I decline her offer?”

Claire was silent, save for the slight pop in her knuckles as they cracked from how tightly she held her purse. _Think of Barbara_ , she repeated in her head, before offering a wan smile and nodding briskly, leaving before she could incriminate herself or worse, hurt Jim's mother.

Now all she had to do was survive the rest of the day.

 


	3. Artemis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim grows increasingly agitated over Strickler's taunting, Blinky offers Claire grim advice and Angor Rot receives his answer.

The moment the afternoon bell rang, Jim and Tobias were upon her for information, like vultures to the carrion of knowledge. They spoke over each other, with Jim's tone full of absolute concern and barely suppressed anger towards Strickler and Tobias' sounding more accusatory and conspiratorially. Claire at least had the sense to drag them to the part of the courtyard where kids didn't prefer to mill, given how close it was to the CCTV cameras. Here, they could speak freely without fear of someone overhearing.

Jim was first after shooting a small glare at Toby continuing his theory that she was turning into a zombie because of the Shadowstaff, hands taking hers and looking into her eyes imploringly. He didn't expect her to lie about what happened, but he knew she might downplay the importance or threat Strickler stressed onto her to save him the additional heartache. Her thumb circled to rest onto the back of his hand, caressing the soft skin there, both of them ignoring the look of fake disgust that cross Toby's face.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked once the silence had set between them. “Because if he so much as lays a _finger_ on you – ”

“ – You won't be able to do anything to hurt Strickler.” she reminded him. As long as his fate was entwined with Barbara's, anything they inflict upon him would replicate to her. Claire squeezed his hand, touched that he'd risk life and limb to protect her. “I'm fine. He just wanted a chat. I think he's trying to shake us up, you know, like, our will? He doesn't even need to say anything to me because he knows every time I see his smug face I'm thinking of Enrique.”

“Yeah.. I'm not buying it.”

Both Jim and Claire turned to look at Tobias' narrowed eyes, breaking up their held hands with a flailing of his own as he jabbed a finger at the girl's arm, proclaiming; “How do we know that you're not a changeling, huh? Strickler obviously kidnapped the REAL Claire and gave us this fake. I'm onto you, Fake-laire.”

“Tobes, are you serious?” Silly question, because Claire knew that he was, eyes rolling to the heavens. “Honestly. Hit me with a gaggletack if you think that I'm a changeling. I'm being serious when I say he honestly just wanted to talk about, boring old school stuff.”

“Got to admit, letting herself willingly be subjected to a gaggletack is a point to camp ' _Real Claire_ ,'” added Jim, disbelieving his oldest friend's wild claims. Still, he felt marginally better that she appeared unharmed and kept her good humour. A small, soft smile broke out over his face until he realized he had been staring at her for a moment. His cheeks flushed and he quickly returned back to the conversation.

“Oh, that reminds me.” the look of grief that crossed Claire's face made Jim retract his mental statement, brows furrowed a little bit as she looked to him apologetically. “Strickler's visiting your mom again tonight.”

“You've got to be kidding me!” exclaimed Jim, throwing his hands up in utter frustration. Whilst he usually expressed himself rather exasperated regarding the changeling principal, it was rare that genuine anger seeped into his tone. It was one of those rare times it did, and it felt far weightier than the typical teenage complaining. “How many times does he have to visit to keep up the appearance that he's into my mom? It's so annoying, and gross.”

“What if he's, you know.. like, _actually_ into your mom?” offered Toby.

That only served to make the pitch in Jim's voice raise a tad higher, enough that both Tobias and Claire winced. “Don't you think that my mom deserves a whole lot better than a deadbeat, two-bit dad wannabe and a literal monster in disguise whose only pretending to like her and string her along so he can hurt me?”

Both Claire and Toby fell silent. Jim almost never spoke of his real father, and the few times he did, he never had anything pleasant to say about James Sr. He slumped against the wall, brooding and stewing in his outburst as he refused to look at the faces of his friends. Claire could feel her heart tug at the predicament, and without much warning yanked Jim into a hug. He stumbled, stiffened in uncertainty, before relaxing and slowly wrapping his arms around her, his expression no doubt a picture show as she vaguely heard Tobias snort.

“Hey.” she softly began when she pulled back, tucking a strand of Jim's hair behind his ear that'd fell forward, before cracking a small smile. She wanted the three of them to go to the Forge so they could address the Shadowstaff in her possession, but decided it could wait a day longer and instead offered; “I'm picking up some books from Blinky's library about Troll magic. There's about three, so surely one of them has got the answer about the curse on your mom. I'll let you know if I find anything.”

“In the meantime,” Tobias slipped in, patting Jim's arm. “You stay at home and make sure Strickler doesn't put the moves on Dr. L. He probably expected you were going to Trollmarket today, so that's why he's visiting again. I think it's fair you crash his parade, don't you?”

Jim looked between his friend, smiling slowly blooming before he yanked them both into the hug. He was glad they understood, and thankful to have such friends. They were more than happy to return it, though Tobias was more lightly punching his arm amicably over Claire's reassuring squeeze. He just had to remember not to let his anger at the situation get the better of him, no matter how sick he was of people taking advantage of the one parent that actually cared about him.

“You guys are the best.”

The rest of the school day was uneventful, which made more room for thought regarding the evening where Claire would have to give her answer to Angor Rot. Even if there was one real answer to his decision, as the latter would likely spell death for her. She didn't even want to comprehend the kind of grief that her death would give to her family, let alone Jim and Tobias, or even the Trolls in the market. Nor did the idea of being forced to watch Jim die sit well in her stomach.

Just like that, a wave of nausea flooded her as her anxiety crept back and chewed at her. She was in her last class of the day, Spanish, and her teacher's voice sounded like white noise in her ear as her thoughts swarmed and succeeded in making her feel dizzy. It was only when she noticed the students slowly turn their heads towards her that she realized Señor Uhl was speaking to her.

“... I know you can speak Spanish fluently, Claire, but that is no excuse to day dream in my class.” he reprimanded firmly. As she could speak the language fluently, she was often given work that was far more advanced than the rest of the class, as well as extra activities or even act as an honorary teaching assistant to help the other students. “Now please read passage four to correct Mary's pronunciation.”

Sliding out of her seat, she did just that, with the teacher's face visibly relaxing after hearing someone who can actually speak Spanish. Perhaps unfortunately, she was left in relative peace afterwards as her mind returned in full force to chew her out, now in her native tongue. Amusingly how her inner voice took the cadence of her mother's rising, fast-paced tone whenever an argument occurred.

The three friends met up again at the bike rack at the school's last bell, with Jim tossing Claire one of his helmets. Her mother wouldn't be able to pick her up, working late at the town hall, so she'd have to get the bus back. It wasn't much of an issue as Jim was more than willing to offer her a ride on his bike. Until fate had other plans, anyway.

“Jim,” a familiar voice called, and each teen expressed a deep sigh, turning to the source. Strickler was at his car, beckoning the boy, though of course he wouldn't make his way over to be discreet when he could call out to him and alert the other leaving students and faculty. “I thought you might want a ride, as I am visting--”

Claire tugged the bike's handle from Jim's clutching hands, voice dropping to a whisper so she could say; “I'll borrow your bike and you can pick it up after school tomorrow, okay? Don't let Strickler get to you, he _wants_ you to react.”

Jim exhaled slowly, nodding. It was just another one of his many mind games. The angrier he got, the more irrational he became. Taking a deep breath and sighing slightly, he turned to face Strickler and, heaven forbid, actually managed to force a convincing smile to his face, unclipping the safety of his helmet and handing it back to Claire, who tied it to a part of the bike. Tobes shook his head and gave an encouraging; “Soldier on, Jimbo.”

“ – Thanks, Mr. Strickler. I'd like to get the meat on before Mom gets home anyway.” Jim gave one last look to his friends before jogging up to the changeling in disguise, slinking into the passenger's seat. Claire couldn't help the sympathy that crossed her face when Jim looked like a trapped puppy sitting in Strickler's car, if that puppy was consumed with concealed rage from his pout.

Tobias and Claire watched the car pull out of the park and onto the road, waiting for it to disappear before parting ways themselves. It left a bad taste in their mouth to think on the burden that weighed on Jim's shoulder – and oddly, Claire suddenly realised why Strickler seemed so fond of calling him a young Atlas. A frown settled on her face for the rest of the bike journey home, glancing up only once away from the streets to watch the sky having gone from the glorious morning blue, to the afternoon yellowed hue, towards the sundown of evening. Any moment now the shade was cast over the neighbourhood, Angor Rot would be prowling.

 

Taking a detour to Trollmarket took most of her evening up. She'd visited Blinky, who didn't think much of her request on her books, merely directed her to the right shelf. Even if he got carried away once he'd mentioned other varieties of magic, or the history of such, and the practitioners. In the end, three books turned into ten books, and she had to deny any more because her schoolbag was already heavy enough with her biology textbooks. She spent as much time as she could within the homely library, because at least she knew Trollmarket was one of the safest places to be, away from Angor.

By her sixth suppressed yawn, Blinky finally expressed his concern. “Time certainly flies whilst your head is buried in a book, but I don't think it's safe for you to sleep here as well, miss Claire. Would you like me to escort you to the front door, as it were?”

The teen stretched, the crick in her neck clicking as she did so, another yawn falling out at the action. She bookmarked the page she hadn't finished reading with a dog ear to the corner, and swept the book into her heavy bag. She was just about to stand up when one of his hands came to view. Claire smiled, and allowed Blinky to help her up. “ – You're right. It's about time I head back now anyway. Thanks for letting me crash here without Jim and Toby, I'd have probably slept here if my parents weren't expecting me.”

Many of Blinky's eyes .. well, _blinked_ , as if her gratitude confounded him. “I don't see why not. As Master Jim's friend, you are more than welcome to spend as much time as you like in my library. I believe in your language, it is, how you say, _mi casa es tu casa_.”

They shared a smile, before Claire paused, mind assaulted with the thoughts of what would happen the second she stepped out of the sanctuary of Trollmarket. She stalled a little, watching Blinky sort the shelves he'd inadvertently messed up during his mad scramble for the answer she sought. She supposed there was no harm in simply asking him. She tapped him on the third arm. “Hey, Blinkster..”

“Yes, miss Claire?” A few of his eyes spared a moment to look at her, the rest focusing on his work.

“What can you tell me about the Shadowstaff, and Angor Rot?”

Blinky's motions stalled to a complete stop as the question settled in the air like rock. He didn't say anything for a moment, before turning to face her, as the best he could do was be informative. He knew she'd stolen the Shadowstaff from him, and while a powerful tool, he did not look forward to dealing with the eventual consequences. Two of his idle hands fiddled with a book whilst the other pair clasped in front of him. His tone was grave when he spoke;

“Only that to speak of his name so brazenly is to invite a black curse upon you. He is the bane of Merlin's champions – he turns the hunters to be _hunted_. He certainly will be Master Jim's greatest challenge yet.. perhaps, even more dangerous than Bular. A master assassin and a competent wizard make for a deadly combination, and one that should _**not**_ be trusted in any capacity..” a sigh. “As for the Skathe-Hrün, it is an artefact of dark magic. I would advise caution upon using it, and only do so in the most extreme of circumstances.”

That didn't help much for her anxiety, but she decided not to pry, let her questioning seem like concern for Jim's sake. She nods slowly.

“I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Blinky.”

“Stay safe out there, miss Claire.”

 

The suburban neighbourhood was relatively peaceful. A gentle night's breeze washed through the air, the streets were clean and devoid of litter or graffiti. Quiet tunes of a tree cricket's song filled her ears with perhaps one or two rustling of urban animals scavenging through trash or scurrying into bushes. Brown eyes scanned every dark corner that they passed. The shaded seclusion of the trees. The rooftops of houses, yet there was no sign of the ancient troll. Maybe Strickler had sent him off to do something, thus preventing him from meeting her?

That was a bit of a hope spot, even if it shouldn't be, and she brought Jim's bike to a stop, sliding off of it to instead push it towards her house. She could spot it in the distance, with the lounge's lights off, but her parent's bedroom's lamp dimly on. Her father was likely asleep, though he'd awaken to work the night shift soon. The wind picked up a little as she forged on ahead, eyes squinting as it irritated her eyes.

The additional crunch of of leaves underfoot made her freeze. It was far too heavy to have been her feet. She immediately dropped the bike ( _sorry, Jim!_ ) in favour for pulling the Shadowstaff's metal hilt out. It reacted pleasantly under her touch, extending out and bleaching the white wood darkly black with little more than subconscious thought, twisting around in time to point it at Angor Rot, decidedly more full of resolve than the last time they met. He didn't seemed the least bit fazed and his grin couldn't have felt any less vicious.

“You're slow, little huntress. It took you far too long to notice me.” he intoned, arms unfolding, though it was not her posturing that gave him pause, but the fact that the staff's prongs held a swirling dark void in between it's clutches. That couldn't be possible – it was one thing to summon the staff and use it as one would a pole weapon, but to unlock it's magic? It made for a morbid curiosity: umbrage that she dared, yet interest she was able to. “Had I been on the hunt, you would've – ”

“Let me give you a _pro tip,_ ” she cut in with a hint of a snarl, the staff quaking as it soaked in her rising temper, the black hole-like magic in the staff's eye shuddering. Angor surprisingly, did not seem annoyed at her snapping back. “I have had a _horrible_ day, coupled with the fact I _**know**_ that Jim is suffering right now and there is nothing I or he can do about it thanks to _your_ magic. That makes me more than a little ticked off.”

“Embrace your rage if you must, girl, it changes nothing.” His arms unfurled, one hand casually drawing his dagger from it's sheath, drawing his thumb across the sharpened blade. It was not laced with Creeper's Sun, although Claire didn't want to find out if turning to stone was any less painful than being stabbed. His infernal gaze remained on her the entire time as he asked; “Give me your answer.”

Claire gave a controlled sigh, the portal in the staff's prongs dispersing as she pulled up from her combative stance, now leaning on the weapon as one might a cane. They both knew she couldn't say no, because even if she stood defiantly, it would be her last. Jim wouldn't be able to get to her in time, and she bristled to think that she couldn't defend herself. No, she was just as much a part of the Trollhunters gang as the rest of them. She can fight her own battles, and for once, maybe she would fight this one for Jim.

The fact was Angor Rot was an assassin whose experience had more than a thousand year's worth, and she had no Daylight armour to protect from even the most lightest of Troll blows. If the armour could protect Jim from electrocution and beat down from a troll like Draal or Bular, then what hope did she have against Angor Rot in nothing but her favourite, lucky tee and her jeans? So she'd bide her time. Take the smart, strategic approach. 

“You might've disguised it as a choice, but I don't really have one, do I?” she spat gloomily. “I'll retrieve your Inferna Copula.” She noticed the way the smoother stone-skin of his face pulled back in his grin, and she supposed that was close enough to a genuine, pleased smile that she was getting from Angor. Claire made sure to ruin it shortly after by adding in; “ – But after I get the ring, I want you to remove the binding spell between Strickler and Jim's mom, and help me get my brother from the Darklands.”

She expected some sort of enraged outburst, but her expectations were chillingly avoided when no such thing occurred, instead the assassin's voice was a rumbling purr as his weapon was sheathed away. “Of course.. you have my word. In fact, I shall give you more than that. My assurance.”

Her brows twitched, uncertain at his meaning. Claire had little time to react as Angor Rot strode purposefully forward, easily matching her blows of the Shadowstaff strike for strike with the cuff of his wrist, each time adding just a touch more power, unbalancing her. She stumbled back, giving an alarmed shout, questioning what he was doing, though it was hard to impede his advance for long. Eventually a hole in her defence was capitalized when he kicked her in the gut. As it turned out, the void they had first battled in did indeed damper the pain, because she felt her stomach and innards scream in protest as she hit the ground, rolling a little bit to a stop.

Groaning, with her free hand clutching her stomach, she mumbled something that vaguely accused him. Wits scattered, the staff wasn't being helpful as anything more than a sturdy stick. Angor Rot's shadow cast over her, diminishing what little light there was in the winter's evening. She swung around just in time to catch his torso with the prongs of the staff, but that didn't deter the assassin's goal of grabbing the front of her hoodie and lifting her up to eye level.

The last thing Claire saw was his piercing gaze before his head rammed into hers.

 

When Claire awoke, she was greeted with one hell of a migraine. Shafts of light split through the blinds of her window and the slightest hint of sunlight made her eyes burn. She bemoaned loudly as she shifted uncomfortably on her bed, hazily realizing that her feet were at the pillows at the top, and her head at the bottom. She tried to force her eyelids open but the mounting pain at such a trivial action forced her to stop. What on earth happened... ?

The events of the night before slowly fluttered to the forefront of her mind. Angor Rot.

She'd have thought such a thing would rouse her body from it's infirmity, but it seemed content to ache. Tears involuntarily dotted the corner of her eyes as the brightness of the room continued to irritate her. She vaguely felt that she was resting ontop of all her quilt and blankets, and she hadn't changed out of her school outfit. At least the troll had the decency to dump her in her room instead of leaving her outside in the alley..

Progress was made at least ten minutes later when she was able to correct her position on the bed, and reach out to grope for her alarm clock, turning it towards her and hesitantly cracking an eye open. Under great difficulty and stress, she managed to see that the time was two in the morning, and the activity on the landing (though each small step sounded like a massive drum to her poor head) indicated that her father had just awoken, and her mother had probably fallen asleep on the couch in sheer exhaustion after sorting Enrique out.

She tried to stand up, though a wave of dizziness hit her and forced her to stumble back onto the bed. Claire pressed the palm of her hand to her temples, before pinching the bridge of her nose tightly. Her hand came to rest at her stomach habitually, only to hiss at the sudden sharp feeling of pain that dulled the moment she pulled away. What the hell.. ?

Gingerly she unzipped her hoodie and grabbed a handful of her shirt's fabric, lifting it up just far enough to expose her stomach. A great frown marred her face at the sight of the horrible bruise there. Right.. he'd kicked her.

Letting go of her top, she waited, clutching the edges of her bed, for the wave of sickness to pass, gaze absent-mindedly to the floor, which was the only thing that didn't seem to look like it was pulsing. When her gut settled, she very slowly lifted from the bed, moving towards the dresser's chair to see what other damages Angor had done. 

The only thing that prevented her from screaming was her hands clamping around her mouth to muffle the sound, once her gaze locked with the reflection in the mirror.

 


	4. The Lone Huntress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire finally cracks under pressure and confides in NotEnrique. As the Spring Fling competition requires Jim's presence, Tobias takes this chance to confront Claire about her strange behaviour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the others, so I hope you can forgive that. I'm tempted to write an intermission just to show off what happened at the Lake's house with Strickler's visit, but it wouldn't be much else other than filler.

Once Claire's initial fright had subsided, her hands shakily dropped from her mouth, eyes like a deer's caught in a headlight as her fingers dumbly raise and touch upon the golden lines that seemed to be burned into her flesh. It felt hot to the touch, yet the burn didn't feel on her skin. It felt more to her soul, like it'd been branded in some way. She traced the lines that made up the odd tattoo, seeing that it looked like some kind of skull-like emblem. Perhaps it was a remnant of Angor Rot's clan, but either way, it seemed to shine under her fingers. Even when she clamped her hand over her afflicted cheek, the parts of the lines still glowed through her fingers.

It wasn't fading.

“This.. this isn't happening.” Weakly she reached towards her make up kit, trembling hands bringing the foundation closer to her. She gathered some of the powder on her brush, gaze unwilling to raise to her reflection for a moment, though the image was rooted in her mind. Claire forced herself to look up – letting out a startled breath at the bruise on her forehead, too. In such a short time she already accumulated so many bruises from crossing Angor. She was beginning to regret ever picking up the staff.

Clipping her fringe back with one of her fallen hair clips, she tended to the bruise first, minimizing the size of it into just a small blemish that could've been explained away by an inflamed pimple. Embarrassing, but it was better than saying ' _Oh yeah, an ancient troll assassin headbutted me and then gave me some freaky tattoo without my consent._ ' With it concealed, she dabbed her cheek after renewing the powder, frowning as her suspicions were correct. It just simply glowed through the foundation, no matter how many layers she applied.

Wiping her cheek with a makeup wipe, she stored her kit away to her purse, pacing in her room. How can she make it go away? How did Jim make his mark go away? It had to disappear, right? Angor Rot wouldn't ' _give_ ' her such a thing only to incriminate the one ally (she used the term very loosely) he had. He might've been sadistic, but his infamy as a skilled hunter did not come from mere brutality. He called it his assurance.. though right now, she was feeling far less assured that he'd keep his bargain once she got the ring.

Something she hadn't even begun to plan for.

Her trepidation made her migraine cringe, and thus, so did she in turn. First things first: paracetamol to at least alleviate the headache of epic proportions. Then, call Jim, explain the situation, get the Trollhunters gang on board, get the Inferna Copula, which would make Angor Rot turn out to be a half decent troll when he wasn't browbeaten by Strickler, rescue her brother and have her only troubles be either or not she had to bail Mary out for fraternizing with the enemy school.

Right..? _**Right**_?

_Baby steps_ , she thinks, nudging her room door open enough to peek through, before slipping out and towards the bathroom where their medicine was stored.

As Claire waited for the tablets to dissolve, swirling the fizzing glass of water-mixed medicine idly and staring at the disintegrating bits, her thoughts turned towards Jim. The problem with involving Jim was his noble heart. No doubt he'd go straight for Angor Rot once she revealed the past two days.. especially since they both shared a fate worse than death, now, if Blinky's whispered doom was anything to go by. They all knew none of them were ready to face an assassin of that calibre yet. Jim still needed the Triumbric stones if he ever had a chance of facing him.. and he only had one of three.

It was calculatingly clever that Angor had went to her. She glared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, at the tattoo, as if it was directed to him. If she involved Jim, Angor still did what he was ordered to do, and killed the human Trollhunter due to the teen hero's brave heart mixed in with recklessness. He'd waited thus far to be free from the ring, no doubt he'll find another way if the plan with her didn't work out. If she failed, then not only would the revelation of her lying deal a blow to their gang and ultimately weaken them, but Jim would still have to face Angor. The only way out of such a fate is to succeed..

No matter what happened, Angor Rot won in some capacity.

Once her drink had stopped fizzing, she drained it, pulled a grimace at the bitter taste before cleaning the glass and storing it away. It wouldn't work straight away, but the knowledge that it would in a few moments offered a placebo assurance. Speaking of, the tattoo still hadn't faded away. What had Jim done to make it disappear.. ?

Rubbing her temples yet again, Claire knew that if she kept all of this information to herself, it'd eat her alive. She couldn't believe that she was going to confide in a changeling, but.. NotEnrique is the only one she could trust to keep his mouth shut, with a little bribery of a few dozen socks. She tiptoed towards her baby brother's room, slipping inside the room that was illuminated by a night light.

“NotEnrique,” she whispered to the bundle in the cot, though he didn't stir. Sneaking closer, she poked the lump. It wiggled. “NotEnrique, wake up.” She poked again. It wobbled even more threateningly. Claire rolled her eyes and yanked the covers back to be face to face with one mother of a stinkeye from the baby. One that promptly melted away to _**genuine fear.**_

“Holy _shiitake_ mushrooms!” he proclaimed, wisely choosing to avoid swearing even if the teen had no doubt heard worse from television or friends pretending to be 'grown up'. His stubby paw of a hand reached forward, glamour of his baby's guise dropping to reveal his trollish form. A single claw touched the golden line, which made Claire wince a little. “What the _hell_ have youse been up to, sista'?! Because, this – this is a joke right, it's just, makeup. Copying Jimmy. Please tell me you're just copying the Trollhunter.”

The flat look on her face otherwise, though it was a touch concerned. She hadn't expected NotEnrique to actually display any sort of panic over the Sigil.

The aforementioned changeling dragged his hands down his stony face at the revelation, a mixed look of pity and horror mingling together unabashed. He didn't even try to play his tough guy act regarding this. “Oh jeez.. okay, sista', so uh, it really was nice knowing ya. Make sure to tell your mom in your will that I want your room.”

“Not helpful, NotEnrique.” Claire told, incensed. “What's the big fuss – ”

“ _The big fuss_!” he repeated incredulously, stubby paws gesticulating wildly as he tried to convey the gravity of the situation, crawling forward to grab her cheeks, tugging on them. She tried to swat his hands away to no avail. “The big _FUSS_ is that you've got a huge magical bullseye for Rotface!” Claire didn't question how NotEnrique caught onto Toby's nickname. “Look, I know I don't seem to know much magical whoo-ha but I can tell ya that you're looking like a sitting duck. You didn't just interrupt the game between a hunter and prey, you BECAME part of it!”

_So much for assurance,_ she thought sourly. “Well, is it going to go away? Because I can't exactly go to school with half my face looking like unfinished artwork from a metal band.”

“You mean, like, forever? Nah, sista', that mark's permanently on you for as long as youse and Angor Rot lives. But it'll disappear in a few hours when it's not in use.” the changeling informed, rocking in his crib hesitantly before adding; “Dunno why he marked you, though. Aint like you got the amulet, so what can he wield?”

“ … the Shadowstaff.”

They exchanged a look. “ – Nah. No way. Cause, like, the staff is something physical, right?” the changeling reasoned, shrugging as the truth is he didn't really know if it applied or not. “An' the Daylight sword kinda, manifests from the amulet.”

Whatever the case may be, it made Claire slump against the crib with her head in her hands. She didn't know the purpose behind why Angor marked her the same way as Jim, especially when she was, in essence, trying to help him. Even if it wasn't out of the kindness of her soul, but rather a mutually helpful decision. She barely even felt her not-baby brother pat her back, seemingly for once, look truly sympathetic to her plight.

“Eh.. besides. How did you manage to get the big guy's attention anyway?”

With a deep breath, Claire slowly began explaining everything, with strict emphasis that she didn't want the others to find out.

What seemed like a bad idea in the making, telling NotEnrique all about Angor Rot and what he requested of her, it turned out that the changeling was plenty empathetic about the situation she was in, and offered his discretion. Though she didn't know how much that would amount to once socks were on the line, it made her smile nonetheless that he was thoughtful enough to at least offer it. As for the task at hand, NotEnrique spent some time working with Strickler, which turned out to be helpful when plotting to steal the Inferna Copula. She ran through each of her plans through him to see how they would stand up.

“Okay,” she narrated, mind's eye to the events of her plan. With decent memory, it was easy to picture Strickler's office, and the man himself behind his desk.

“I wait for him to fall asleep,” The figure of the principal slumped a little in his chair, chin and head supported by the hand of his propped elbow. A dark portal rippled into the office, with Claire tiptoeing in. She pictured the setting to be around the evening, given the lack of students and the sundown approaching. “I use the Shadowstaff to sneak in and ever so gently – ”

“Yeah, problem there, princess.” The changeling interjected, causing the imaginary Claire to stall with her fingers wrapped around the hell's bond ring. “He don't sleep in his office. In fact I don't think I ever saw him asleep.”

Claire grimaced as the snarling image of Strickler's true form came to mind. She struck the plan from the record of her journal, rubber tip of her pencil tapping against her chin as she contemplated. “Can he be drugged or knocked out? If so for how long?”

“You know you gotta knock out solid stone, right? A hit in the head's gonna hurt him but he's not going to pass out. Drugs.. eh, probably just make him sick. Even if youse somehow accomplished that, trolls are known to regenerate faster than humans can on the account that you can polish stone a lot better than you can fix skin.”

“Plus..” she remembered with a vexed sigh; “If I knock Strickler out, I knock Dr. Lake out.. What if she's in the middle of, like, an appendix removal? That's too much of a risk..” Another plan erased out of her journal, absent-mindedly brushing the used rubber off from the page, then she paused.

“Wait. What if I drug _Dr. Lake_ instead? Then just, use the Shadowstaff to hop over to the sleeping Strickler, steal the ring and – ”

“Goodluck explainin' to the Trollhunter why youse gotta knockout his mom.” the changeling scoffed, stone arms folding. As much as Claire wanted him to be the voice of reason to cast doubt on her plans, he felt a little sorry seeing her brows furrow in frustration at the lack of progress. On the bright side, in the hours it took of her explaining and discussing, the sigil had faded to near invisibility. “An' Strickler's still a troll. Even if you do drug the momma, he's not effected by the medication in the same way. I mean, go ahead if you wanna give him a killer stomach ache though.”

NotEnrique jumped a little when Claire threw the book across the room, with it hitting the wall with a loud thud. She'd sunk down to sit at the crib, knees up and arms tangled over them, face partially buried against her drawn limbs. The changeling baby tapped his claws together, not so good at dealing with emotions, especially the saddened one his familiar's sister displayed. He slipped out of the bars easily, little paws grabbing her arm and trying to tug her into shape. That seemed to only spark Claire alive.

“Maybe I'm going about it wrong. I'm jumping before I can even walk, right?” She shifted in her position, scooping up NotEnrique into her arms, letting the changeling hold her jacket out of habit as he squinted at her, uncertain where she was going with her words. “Angor Rot calls me a huntress. So like a huntress, I need to bide my time, observe, and prepare. I've just got to see Strickler as, like.. big game in a hunt.”

NotEnrique stared at her.

“Yep, you've officially lost your mind, sis.”

Claire shook her head, rising from her seat to settle the changeling back down into the crib, though he didn't remain seated for long, padding up to the railings and clutching it tightly, his voice barely a whispered hiss as he thought it prudent to remind her; “Disregarding the fact that youse don't know how much time Rotface's even gave you, Stricklander's been plottin' and scheming before your parents were even born. Probably before your grandparents, too! The point is, he isn't going to be **outwitted** by a _sixteen year old_ girlie! I'da hoped you caught onto that!”

“If Jim can beat him in combat, hell, can beat _Bular_ , then the least I can do for him is this, NotEnrique!” she spat, turning on her heel and advancing upon the changeling whom stumbled back a little when she jabbed him in the chest with her finger, before they gesticulated her words angrily; “And, in case you've forgotten, I don't have a CHOICE! Either I do _something_ , or sit and wait for Angor Rot to kill us all whilst he remains trapped in an eternal service!”

“Oh, **please** don't tell me ya' feeling sympathetic to the, news flash sis, _**ASSASSIN**_! D'ya need me to get the mirror to see the big shiner he gave you to your forehead? Or why not mosey along and ask the Trollhunters how they felt about Rot. Oh, wait, you can't, because he _KILLED THEM_!” the troll's distress was, surprisingly born out of concern and worry. He hated to see the sigil on her, or the position she was in and he could see how much it was tearing her up inside. Something that the staff, no doubt, was relishing in the negativity. Dark magic.. horrible stuff. “Youse don't have to do this alone. Jim can do that stuffs 'cause he's the _champion of Merlin_! Nobody's expectin' you to single-handedly take down Rot and Strickler.”

NotEnrique flailed his short, rocky limbs when Claire silenced him by tossing the blanket back over his head, to which his struggling and writhing got him all tangled up. Pacing in the room for a moment, the teen didn't have an answer. She didn't expect NotEnrique to know the history outside of what it looked on the surface. But she knew there wasn't a way a ring like the Inferna Copula came into existence for no reason. Angor Rot had been forced into submission somehow. The changeling baby heard Claire mumble just before she left;

“I have to _try_.”

 

Once the morning rolled around and school hours began, Claire was more determined than ever. Still lacking a half decent night of sleep, and people did snicker and stare at the mostly covered blemish on her forehead, she had a plan in mind that eased her doubts. Even if it wasn't much of a plan, it was the stepping stones to one. She met up with Tobias at the bike rack, blinking somewhat in confusion when Jim was nowhere in sight. Worry settled in shortly after, though the rotund friend did not seem too bothered about his lack of presence.

“Where's Jim?” she asked once she'd secured Jim's bike and slung the helmet to the handle, dragging her bookbag to her shoulder – and halting entirely. It was light. She swung it to her chest, tugging open the cover and seeing nothing but her school textbooks and one Trollish book in there. Wait.. had she taken out Blinky's books last night? She had been so caught up with the shock of Angor's sigil and her argument with NotEnrique that she completely forgot about the magical study she promised she'd do. She knew they hadn't fallen out of her bag, either..

Her eyes narrowed, but put it towards the back of her mind before she missed what Tobias said.

“Oh, he's doing one of the activities in the Spring Fling competition. If he moves his hand, he forfeits his right to the title. Luckily Blinky, Wingman and I can hold the fort for just one day.” he told. Claire's eyes widened. She utterly forgot about the dumb dance in light of all the events that had happened, though scowled when Tobias purposefully did not include her in the Trollhunters gang “You would've known if you were at Trollmarket this morning before school. Where were you? Didn't you get Jim's like, bajillion texts?”

“No..” she rummaged in her pocket to pull out her phone to prove it, only to notice that she did indeed have a bulk of missed texts and calls alike. She looked between the phone screen to Tobias' expecting face, and quickly laughed awkwardly. “Oh, silly me, it's on silent. I totally missed it.”

“You never looked at your phone _once_ in several hours?”

“Tobes, I've had trouble sleeping. Get off my case.” At least that part was true. Tobias could see the dark shadows under her eyes, as well as the small bruise on her forehead, but he couldn't help but feel like there was more to the story. She bristled when she heard his tone dip accusatory, like she'd committed some crime for just making a mistake.

“Yeah, why is that, exactly? Could it be the super evil-life-stealing staff that you've refused to let anyone touch or look at? Or is it – ” She raised her hand to silence him, disgruntlement rolling off of her in waves. She needed something to shut him up, and there was one way she knew how.

“Alright, Tobes. You caught me. You really want to know what's up?” He nodded, leaning a tad closer in suspicion. “I'm on my period.”

Silence.

Claire somehow managed to keep her flat look, despite the grin that threatened to raise over Tobias' incredible discomfort at her dropping that lie. It was one way to utterly shut down his line of questioning and more importantly, shut him up. A beat passes and he awkwardly rubbed the back of neck at the unknown territory, eyes squinting as he offered an unsure; “My.. condolences?”

The bell rang, causing a great look of relief to cross Tobias' face. He mumbled something fast and quick about goodbye and an apology before he headed off, probably the fastest she'd seen him scurry away. Claire, however, did not walk towards the block that had her biology class.

She headed towards the principals' office.

 


	5. Diana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire sets in motion a plan to try and learn more about the hunt she is apart of. Strickler, enraged at what he knows of Angor Rot's actions, confronts him. A young Artemis is met with a challenge from the boastful Agamemnon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some lore inconsistencies as Blinky should technically still be a human if we are following by the episodes, however things have been tweaked to disinclude the Kairosect's use at the moment. I have essentially been non-stop writing this story for days, so I may take a small moment to focus on other things. Not stopping writing it, but taking a day off.

 

Staring up at the wood door adored with a gold plaque that had the word ' _PRINCIPAL_ ' emblazoned on the front, Claire exhaled slowly. It was a risk to spend even a _second_ in Strickler's company. She didn't think he'd outright attack her (the staff shuddered in her bag at her anticipation) especially in broad daylight, at school hours.. but as NotEnrique said, the man was exceptionally witty.. and a devious mastermind. She would have to be extraordinarily careful with the words she chose, and be mindful of any habitual tics that gave her intent away. They likely _never_ would've suspected that Strickler was a changeling had it not been for Bular's purposeful reveal of the company he kept.

Additionally, his guise was old enough that he seemed far different than NotEnrique or even Nomura. He was a respected community member, despite his sudden departure that was taken merely as a history professor's much needed vacation away from ' _typical teens._ ' and was welcomed back to Arcadia with open arms. Even her mother, being a councilwoman, had sung his praises, much to Claire's disgust. At the very least, having to endure her gushing meant that she had been all too happy to ask her to rethink her A-levels, and accepted Claire's innocent comment that they should invite him around. To discuss school, of course, though no doubt the chat would go political with her mother..

Shoulders back, mental peptalk finished, she knocked on the door and awaited. There was no answer. She contemplated knocking again when the familiar voice of the changeling sounded; “ – Come in.”

Hand stalling on the door, Claire bottled her anxiety up for a natural cool, just like she did to combat her stage fright. It was like being an actor; playing the character of 'Claire' rather than letting her fear show. She entered to see Strickler behind his desk, signing off some documents. He didn't give her his attention until he'd finished one of the pages and moved it to the completed pile. His head tilted upwards – and he looked genuinely surprised to see her, of all people.

“Oh, miss Nuñez! To what do I owe the pleasure?” He rose, habitually moving to button his brown tweed suit jacket, smoothing it down once he had. Strickler likely would've continued to pull out the visitor's chair for her had she not leaned on the back of it, clearly not intending to stay long. He seated himself shortly after, unbuttoning his jacket and clasped his hands on the desk.

Claire couldn't shake the feeling that his gaze kept gradually inching to one side of her face, though. His gaze corrected to her eyes in half a beat after, but it was egregious enough that even she noticed it. There was no way he saw the sigil, because Tobias would've commented on it, she's sure. She just chalked it up to idleness, and offered a convincing fake laugh. “My mother, actually. She's.. this is really embarrassing, but she wants to invite you to our home to discuss my A-levels. I decided I will be pursuing History after all. She can't really make any appointments to appear at school so.. this is the next best thing.”

“I think it's splendid that you are taking my advice, Claire.” he began, and the teen couldn't detect anything in his voice other than a measure of controlled neutrality, and anything she wanted to hear. In this case, pride. “Your studies shouldn't suffer just because you feel obligated to rally behind Jim's fanatical hatred of me. Perhaps when the dust settles of this terrible business and that you no doubt graduate with flying colours, you would consider a potential role as my adjunct.. But that is _far_ in the future, let us focus on the present for now. What time does Councilwoman Nuñez have available?”

She tried not to point out the fact that Strickler was trying to kill Jim, and that hatred was well warranted. The last thing Claire ever wanted to do as well was to work for or under Strickler. Instead, she was curt. “I'm afraid the only time she has available is tonight, at seven.” Not true, but she understood that her time with trying to get the Inferna Copula was short. Her gaze dipped to his ringfinger, watching him tug out the schedule book under the stacks of papers to review if he'd have time free. His brows dipped slightly, so she quickly added to persuade him;

“Given how much of an _upstanding community member_ you are, Mr. Strickler,” Somehow, she managed to say that without a hint of spite or sarcasm, “Declining or rescheduling an offer extended by the councilwoman will no doubt spread gossip amongst the town hall.”

This brought the changeling to pause, gaze rising to cut across to her with such succinct scrutiny she felt microscopic. He held it there for a second before a well practised, perfect smile spread across his lips and his head canted respectfully. Strickler understood the necessity of keeping up appearances, and he needed to maintain the visage of a beloved community member. But the fact that Claire prudently reminded him was information he stored away. The schedule book snapped shut, and he settled it on the desk. “ – Tonight sounds wonderful. I look forward to discussing your academic future.”

“I'm sure you do.” Not being as proficient as the changeling at masking her emotion, the slight touch of contempt bled into her inflection, before it was replaced cheerfully with her native tongue; “ _Espero que puedas hablar español!_ ”

" _Sí, en realidad. Con fluidez._ ” Strickler allowed himself to smirk at the way her face fought to keep a scowl off from it, halting her for a moment to draw up a slip and scribbled something with his signature. He handed off the bit of paper to her. “A note, to inform your teacher that you were with me. If you go now, you may catch the last twenty minutes of your lesson.”

Claire accepted it with mumbled thanks, turning to leave shortly after. She missed the way his face dropped to a cold fury the second her back was turned.

 

“ _ **ANGOR ROT!**_ ”

The calling of the ring compelled him to the changeling. Forced him to abandon his task of collecting the pixies to return to him, like a dog at his master's beck and call. Angor loathed it, the tug at his soul even despite he was void of one. No, no, it was simply misplaced in that infernal ring that the disgusting impure wore. He could not fight the call, merely heed it. He would return to finish his task after he dealt with the changeling's demands.

Once he appeared in the shades of the woodland – it was still daylight, if transitioning into a lazy afternoon – he noted the tense posture of the bearer. He's known him to be cool, calm and calculated, though this was perhaps the one time he's saw the half-breed utterly incensed beyond reason. He fumed as he stood, unnoticable by those who could not read his body language, but his eyes were yellow, and iris burning red at his brimming rage.

“Relish what little control you have over something, changeling. It is not something your kind have as a luxury.” he said as greeting, stepping out from the hidden shade, head tilting just a touch downwards to the troll in disguise. One hand rested on the hilt of his dagger, fingers tip-tapping the stone handle in the closest thing to threat he could outwardly display to those who wield the Inferna Copula.

“Imagine my _surprise_ ,” Strickler spat, his control over his illusion wavering just enough that fangs could be spotted peeking through over human teeth. “When Claire Nuñez walks into my office of her own free will and invites me to dine with her family –”

“Your fetish for humans is of no interest to me.”

Angor Rot could do nothing, no matter how much his reflex wanted him to dive out of the way when Strickler struck him across the cheek with the ring hand. The harsh metal of the ring cut into the soft surface stone, and it burned with such incredible intensity with having his soul so close and once more, ripped away from him when the principal moved away. His guise dropped entirely, revealing the troll form of Stricklander in all it's snarling and infuriated glory.

The assassin hissed, but was powerless to prevent the second swipe, merely having to endure the humilation of his cheek bearing the wound. A slither from where Stricklander's iron quill had struck now rested in the stony bridge of his nose. He stood over the fallen troll, and had he muscles than rock they no doubt would be trembling in indignation.

“How dare you! I _resent_ your implication, and you will remain _**silent**_!” Command in place and satisfied there wouldn't be any further interruptions, Stricklander continued. “Imagine my further _**surprise**_ when I see that you have placed your mark of death upon her! Did you believe I would not be able to spot such powerful magic? What on earth could you be planning that would involve _marking_ the girl?!”

When Angor said nothing, Stricklander paused for a moment, then waivered the command that kept him unable to speak. Once lifted, he heard the familiar deadly growl of the ancient troll, yet never once did it slip out of turn or enrage. Far more collected than Stricklander was at the moment. “When you unleashed me upon this forsaken village, I told you that I will hunt the Trollhunter on _**my** _ terms. She is part of _**my** _ terms. You will get your boy Atlas slain, you do not need to know the extent of how such an execution comes to play.”

The older troll did not give time for the ringbearer to recover, his voice a purr as he added once his yellow eyes flashed in realisation to why the changeling had been so maddened; “Oh.. I see, you are getting attached to your life. The lies you've weaved to get to the position you are now. You tasted respect.. and now you don't want to lose that. You don't want to lose the one person who might actually be able to look past the atrocities you've done.”

A pause. “Or perhaps something more than respect, from someone else..?”

Stricklander's silence was more telling than an angry denial. Angor rose from the forest floor, chuckling lowly. “Tell me, changeling. Do you think the human mother would love you if she knew what you really were? Do you think she will love you still after losing her son?”

The changeling didn't know how the conversation slid from Claire to Barbara, but he understood that the assassin was more than just brute strength like Bular was. He was cunning: calculated, and absolutely would not cow him into stunned silence. Stricklander rose to his full height and the illusion of his human form slipped into place. Even his eyes returned to that of a normal human, and he straightened his jacket, buttoning it.

“The longer Jim lives, the more time he has to find the rest of the stones and have a chance at venturing into the Darklands, risking everything I and the Janus Order have done for my kind.” he calmly intoned. “I have waited _long_ enough to start seeing results. If anything, you have lost more than I have gained. You no longer possess Skathe-Hrün.”

“You know _**nothing**_ of waiting.” the assassin flatly spat. “But I will make my move, soon enough. I shall tell you when I am ready. As for Skathe-Hrün, it is an artifact of dark power. The girl will not be able to power it.”

Strickler frowned. He shouldn't have lost it in the first place, but he supposed the torment and anger Angor Rot possessed to work the staff was leagues above that of what a teenage girl could feel. His words were reasonable, and said nothing further. He had a conversation to prepare later on.

 

Tobias had apologised to Claire about his accusatory tone at the bike racks. At first, the girl was confused as to why, when a brief glance to Darci confirmed that the unofficial girlfriend had more or less clued the boy in regarding the dreaded 'lady week.' – knowing her friend, Darci likely installed the fear of God (or rather, Claire) into him when it is that week for her. He was oddly eager to assist her with anything, and she resisted rolling her eyes. She instead just complained of mild cramps to get him to stop smothering her.

“Can you still make it to Trollmarket?” he asked once they got their lunch and sat away from the eavesdropping students. He waved his bitten sandwich at her as he chewed afterwards, awaiting her answer. She cringed a little. Right.. the Trolls would be without their hunter for a day, and anything from seven onwards she'd be required at home.

“I have to make it at home by seven.” she answered honestly, lifting a single shoulder in an apologetic shrug. “I've got to babysit NotEnrique, and that's the longest my mom can stay for today.”

“I thought she had the day off..?” _Why did Tobias only seem to remember things to catch people out lying..!?_

“She got a call around the time of our algebra class, turns out one of the councilmen are sick and she's required.” Claire shook her head. “Politics, huh?”

“Huh.” He chewed his sandwich thoughtfully, though for once did drop the line of questioning without Claire needing to twist his arm. They ate the rest of their lunch in relative silence. Neither of them were permitted to see Jim whilst he still was competing in the Spring Fling, a dance that she'd entirely lost interest in. Even Tobias had ceased mentioning his want to be a duke. The reality of the other world's problems upon their shoulders were just too much, and the times they did get to be a teenager was often spoilt in some way.

Claire tried to imagine what life would've been like if Jim had never told her about the other world. She wondered how well he'd be at his duties, and smiled fondly knowing he would be just as capable without her. Even if her thoughts were quick to dismiss that. They all worked better as a team than on their own. A reminder she should heed regarding Angor's request. Every lie she told now only further dug her grave until the dreaded reveal. She held out hope that she could kill two birds with one stone, or rather, two enemies with one Inferna Copula.

Thinking of lies made her contemplate about Strickler. She didn't know if his genuinity about her studies and History was more lies to shepherd her away from Jim's side, or if he truly was regretful over the circumstances between them. She let her mind's eye play out a scenario many years ahead where she did become his adjunct. The amount of books they could translate, or trollish lore they could document..

Best not to think of the what ifs, even as her mind returned back to Angor Rot. Her not-baby brother's words floated aimlessly. Claire believed she held no sympathy for the assassin, and yet.. she couldn't imagine the torment it must be like to have one's will shackled to the ring. A part of her, perhaps the part that liked to see the good in people, believed that maybe once upon a time he wasn't the sadistic troll assassin he was known. There were hints of a noble hunter underneath. He was patient, he adhered to the rules of a hunt..

_It shouldn't matter what he was before,_ she thinks. _He's a killer, now. Even if it's not out of his own free will.._

Yet still her thoughts drifted. Maybe if his will was bound to something, or someone that did not have the malicious and devious intents like Strickler did --- would he act any different? Would he assist them in turn if he had to answer to someone like her.. ? Food for thought. She slid her untouched lunch towards Tobias, who was more than happy to tuck in. Swinging her bookbag over her shoulder, she left the lunch room.

 

Claire decided to leave Jim's bike at the racks so when he finished up the competition he had an easier time getting home. She decided walk, wanting to take a hike up to the cliffsides where the view overlooked Arcadia. The sight itself would be far more beautiful at night, but she'd settle for the shepherd's delight of the pink sky above her as afternoon bled into early evening. It was the same spot she showed her friends when Blinky was cursed as a human. The area was a lot more neater than it had been when she took them.

She shuddered, thinking of the glass golems. What was the extent of Angor Rot's magic? A part of her didn't want to find out, but, her insatiable nagging curiousity picked at her. The next time they met, she'll make a note of asking.

Perhaps it'd happen a lot sooner than she expected, because the hair on the back of her neck and the fine hairs on her arms stood up on end. She wasn't alone. At least she was getting better at perceieving the prowling hunter. Stretching her arms, she raised from her recline at the cliff's edge, tossing a pebble down to the city below before turning to face Angor Rot. Naturally, he stood in the shade of the tree, as further past that was open daylight.

Nonchalantly, she reached into her bag and pulled out the staff. His lip curled back in either a smile, or a snarl – either way, it bordered the line between both. It was the first time she did not look upon him in fear, which did not help empower the staff. Adjusting her grip on the metal hilt, she thought of something else. Anger at Strickler for taking her brother. The injustice made against Angor – for he was forced to kill for whomever willed it – and anger at herself, for all the lies she's told thus far.

The staff thrummed in response, the petrified bark as black as the night. She pressed the prongs to the ground, spreading a black shadow of a safe path between the shade of the trees, to the cliffside. It felt odd, to stand in broad daylight, yet feel as if the heat of the evening sun no longer hit her. Angor Rot crossed the path.

“Are you no longer afraid, child?” he asked, hand raising, not to strike or reach for his dagger, but to let the tip of his finger barely grace her cheek. The touch was enough to spark the tattoo into life, vocalized by her low hiss of pain as it burned under his tracing. “Perhaps you have grown wantonly arrogant, inviting Strickler to your hut. With arrogance, comes death.”

“Relax.” she simply said, hooking his wrist in the prongs of the staff to yank his claw away from the burning half of her face, an involuntary tear dripping from watered eyes as she weathered the pain of the sigil. He had to commend her brave face, even if it was useless to one who could see through it. “Since you've decided to ' _invite_ ' me to your game, I've took it upon myself to play it. I need to learn more about Strickler before I can plan to steal the ring. He's, as you would say..” She stared at him for a moment, tone dipping in a rare moment of hatefulness. “ _Curious game._ ”

His lips twitched, before laughter spilled forth from him. It was the most sickening sound Claire had ever heard, but also the most genuine hint of emotion that wasn't guarded. Her brows furrowed, sarcastically mumbling something about his amusement. He calmed down shortly, though his tone, which usually sounded like darkened gravel, was a punch lighter. “An interesting strategem to acquire the ring.” he mused, “Unfortunately, you don't have that kind of time.”

“Then help _me_ to help **you** ,” she testily stated, free hand clenching into a fist as her annoyances with the circumstances trickled out into a frustrated inflection. “For someone who really wants his freedom, you're being so damn obtuse! Give me a way to break your enchantment over Jim's mom. Delay Strickler's orders on hunting Jim and give me more time!”

“I've already provided all the tools you need to acquire the ring, little huntress.” he informed, and Claire found it increasingly taxing how hard it was to determine a troll's bodylanguage, especially one as old as Angor Rot's. She didn't know if he was still amused, or was equally just as angry, or anything. His grin always seemed threatening. “You simply just have to _use_ them. Don't just _act_ like a hunter. _**Embody**_ Artemis.”

“What does that even mean!?” The butt of the staff hit the ground sharply as she intended to lean on it, though the action caused the small pathway she made for Angor to expand tenfold. The dark shadow now cast over the surface of the cliff, allowing the troll free reign around the campsite if he so wished. Claire looked between the staff and the ground, alarmed by such a thing, though it only served to make Angor chuckle lowly.

“Look to the tools you already have.” That was probably the most helpful bit of information she'd get out of him yet. “ – I would avoid your school in the upcoming days. I am bound to provide some progress to my hunt for Strickler. I intend to unsettle my prey.”

He barely blinked when the prongs of the staff were thrust dangerously close to the stone of his throat, and the look upon Claire's face were exactly as he thought: the goddess of the hunt incarnate when she became protective of her Orion. “Jim is not your _prey._ ”

Angor Rot casually pushed the staff aside, stepping away with one sweeping gesture and a final statement before he left, one that sedemented itself in Claire's mind.

“Then beat me to the hunt.”

 


	6. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler arrives at Claire's house to discuss her future with her parents. NotEnrique takes matters into his own hands and goes behind Claire's back. Jim learns something that Claire has been keeping from them..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maria and Samuel aren't Claire's parent's real names, but they aren't specified in the show. So I decided just to give them names for narrative purposes so they aren't always "Claire's Father" or "Councilwoman"

As always, the meeting with Angor Rot left Claire in a sour mood.

The deadline was set before she was even offered the chance to circumvent Strickler's plans. It placed her faith in the ancient creature in a tenuous position. Why all the riddles, the hints and guidance to the right direction instead of simply being forthcoming? Was it wrong of her to even trust him in the first place? She didn't doubt that he wanted his freedom, or perhaps more specifically his soul back, but his lack of assistance – cryptic or otherwise – was suspicious at best. There had to be bigger forces at play than simply the changeling that bound Angor Rot from being direct.

He never struck her as impulsive, or reckless. After all, he was a hunter: with all the intelligence and cunningness it takes to be one. His soul's prison was not of his own making, not _directly_. There was something, or someone, more powerful than anything they'd ever faced that had put him in such a position. In any case, she thought, it wouldn't help her retrieve the Inferna Copula by speculating about Angor's history. Inviting Strickler was a mistake and a misjudgement of how much time she had. NotEnrique was right: she had been so stressed over recent events that she was grasping at straws to try and protect her friends.

Hopefully it was a mistake that wouldn't bear heavy consequences. The ideal outcome was a simple, if awkward meal with the principal and then move to other plans. Maybe it was time to finally involve Jim. Angor said to avoid the school.. sitting on such information would have her guilt eat her alive. She _had_ to tell Jim. Though she could already imagine the look of hurt on his soft face, or the broken trust he might feel afterwards.. It twisted her gut, made her bite her lip in shame. Not just Jim as well, but Tobias, and even Blinky..

Claire shook her head. _Baby steps_ , what a familiar thought that is. _Let's make this meal with Strickler go as smoothly as possible._

The later evening approached to familiar sounds. Councilwoman Nuñez's voice drifted from the lounge with the quietened television broadcasting of the news. She chatted pointedly into her phone to her secretary. NotEnrique lay 'asleep' in her arms, head resting on her shoulder. He may not have needed the amount of sleep a baby required, but he did enjoy the comfort of a soft cardigan and a shoulder for a pillow. Claire's father, Samuel Nuñez, sat on the sofa attempting to watch the broadcast to no avail.

The door bell rang. Claire's gaze drifted from her homework to the clock, scoffing quietly under her breath at it was dead on seven o'clock. She watched from the dining table her mother finish her call and answer the door. Although she stood in the hallway, blocking sight from Claire, the changeling stood quite a few inches taller than her mother, so she was able to see the glint of green eyes and greying black-peppered-white hair.

“Good evening, Mr. Strickler –“ was all Maria managed to say before NotEnrique, upon seeing Strickler, began to wail. Loudly. Claire winced as the not-baby's cries pierced through the entire house, and it was a miracle that Strickler kept his composure to avoid glaring at the traitor. “Oh, goodness, I'm so sorry, he's usually so well behaved around strangers!”

“That's quite alright, Councilwoman,” the principal intoned candidly, voice raising just a touch to be heard over the babe's screaming. “Whatever drifts through a baby's mind will always remain an enigma.”

Claire slid from the dining room table, hastily making her way to her mother, bidding Strickler a courtesy smile before she said; “I'll take him, madre, I'm sure he just needs changing.” she tried not to grimace at the choice of words, especially with the company they were currently in. Maria nodded, carefully exchanging NotEnrique into Claire's arms. He stopped wailing so loudly, but still sobbed and sniffled, head buried into her jacket. Her face fought off her look of irritability as she knew he was getting all his snot and saliva on her favourite purple jacket. Alas, she made no comment and carried him up to his room.

Once in the sanctuary of her baby brother's room, NotEnrique quietened instantly, and shifted into his troll form, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a rough shake. “Sista', what the HELL were you thinking!? You INVITED him to our home? Are you loco?!”

“There was a plan involved.” she hissed back, yanking his grip off of her and holding the changeling at arms length. He kicked his little stone legs pitifully, before settling for a concerned glare. A part of her was inwardly touched that through all the hot air of his bark, he did care about her. “But Angor's made it clear that I don't have that kind of time. I made a mistake, okay? It happens.”

“Oh, first name basis with the assassin now, are we? Chattin' to him regularly, your ol' pally Angor?” he slapped at her arms, which made her drop him into his crib. Claire huffed, balled fists placed on her hips in a strikingly similar pose to her mother when she was set on a campaign movement. “Can't ya see he's playin' youse for a fool, sis? You're fallin' hook line and sinker for his whole pity party and he's gonna stab you when youse least expect it. He's makin' ya do his dirty work for him!”

“It's not like that.” she adamantly denied, rocking the crib furiously as that was the closest thing she would get to throttling the changeling child. NotEnrique hung onto the railing for dear life, before crawling out of the crib to sit upon her desk instead. She turned to face him. “Do you really think I'd fall for something like that if I didn't think it was true?”

“Youse really wanna know what I think? Yea. You would. 'Cause you're soft.” He saw the scowl form onto her face and surprisingly, he added in a touch softer tone of voice; “ – An' that aint a bad thing, sis', because this world sure as hell could use some softies to stop us tough folk from crackin' our heads doin' stupid stuff.”

“I am not _**soft**_ ,” she said, stepping close enough to the troll to jab him in the chest with her finger. Carefully, as not to hurt herself. The lack of trust her not baby-brother had in her to solve the problem, to know what she was doing stung, and she tried not to let it show.“I'm just the only sane one here who can see there's more to this than meets the eye – ”

“What others, huh? Have youse included Jimmy-boy 'n the others yet? Betcha haven't.”

“I'm going to.”

“Don't buy it.”

“NotEnrique!”

He launched himself at her, clinging to her jacket, making her stumble back a little and bump into the crib. His small paws pressed at her cheeks, and his eyes twitched when she hissed through her teeth. Even when the sigil wasn't active, it still clearly hurt her like a bruise when touched. She just wasn't listening to him and he couldn't get through to her. He tried, for once, to keep the most level and calm tone in his voice when he spoke. “Forget, about Angor Rot. Forget whatever one sided deal he's bullied you into keeping and focus on the people that actually matter 'n deserve your help. The Trollhunter. Tubby. Blinks 'n AAARRRGGHH!!! n' yourself.”

Claire didn't say anything, but from her determined look, NotEnrique knew that she would still continue to uphold her deal to Angor Rot and try to get the Inferna Copula. Her heart was as noble as Jim's and just as infuriating to deal with, because he knew she believed she had this sense of honour to help him. Especially since she felt as if there was an injustice that had occurred to Angor. The changeling frankly didn't care how the assassin came to be, he was merely worried for the one person that felt like an actual family to him.

Knowing it was pointless, the troll slid from Claire, letting his feet land on the crib's railings and plop onto the cushions inside. He snorted, sharp teeth peeking past snarled lips.

“.. I'm sorry, NotEnrique.” she finally said, stepping away and fixing her jacket, only to then grimace from the snot and saliva of the changeling's earlier performance. She slipped it off and tossed it to the hamper. “But even if Strickler wasn't an issue, I wouldn't let this problem with Angor simply rest. I have to get to the bottom of this.”

NotEnrique waited under the door quietly closed shut before he spoke. “I'm sorry too, sista'.”

From behind his back, he pulled out her phone, which he'd stolen from her pocket once he'd descended into the crib. He carefully navigated the touchscreen until he came upon Jim's name in the contacts and pressed call.

 

The meal wasn't as awkward as Claire thought it would've been. She had to attribute that to Strickler's unnatural social charm, as he made even a man as infallible as her father crack up and laugh, which was a rare feat indeed. He'd cooked a wonderful meal, and the conversation naturally swung between Spanish and English – whenever it was most convenient for Strickler to flex his knowledge and impress them further. She had remained mostly silent, though kept a guarded eye on the changeling as her parents spoke of her A-levels and academic future.

It did make her feel as if she wasn't present, though her mother was notoriously strict when it came to her grades. Anything less than a B+ often had her aghast. She'd almost been pulled out of drama studies and theatre because of such a grade but narrowly avoided it because of how close to the school year's end it was. She finished her dessert, placing the spoon down, returning a listening ear to the conversation.

“... and I must say, history professors are in greater need more than ever. If she had no interest in teaching, I'm sure Claire would be excellent at curating.” the principal said, head turning towards the girl in question and offering her a perfect smile. “Have you thought about your career, young miss? With how many promising futures that are laid before you, it would be dreadfully unfortunate to see you not pursue any of them.”

His words were innocuous, but Claire could tell the hidden agenda behind them. Even now, he still tried to inch her away from Jim by directing her attention to her own future. Something he seemed certain wouldn't happen if she continued to assist him. Claire's parents turned to look at her expectantly as well, adding on to the pressure. She handled it with a cool head and a nod. “Ancient history and.. other cultures,” that was one way to call the Troll lore. “.. have always been my interest, so a career spent preserving it sounds like something I would want to do.”

Strickler opened his mouth, but was silenced by the doorbell ringing. Maria blinked, exchanging a look between Claire and Samuel, clearly surprised by the additional visitor. Claire politely rose; “I'll get it.”

She crossed the hallway, dumbfounded to find Jim behind the door once she'd opened it. His cheeks were flushed pink and his breathing somewhat laboured from the taxing journey, his bike discarded somewhere at their driveway and his helmet lay not far behind. Her brown eyes met his blue, shock meeting a perplexing mixture of betrayal, hurt, concern, a touch of fear and most importantly: worry. They stared at eachother in stunned silence until Maria piped up.

“Oh, Jim, we weren't expecting you at all.” Claire felt her mother's gaze at the back of her head, questioning. The teen turned around, laughing lightly as she smoothly tried to handle the situation.

“It totally slipped my mind. Jim and I have a project to work on. May I take him upstairs and be excused?” She stepped aside, letting the quiet boy enter as the two of them returned to the dining room. Strickler's and Jim's gazes locked briefly, and Claire could see the way Jim's brows fought to remain neutral rather than dip into an aggressive scowl. She nudged his arm with her elbow, prompting him to finally speak, albeit with a cracked voice.

“Y-yes! A project. Theatre stuff.” he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, offering Claire's parents his smile. His slightly crooked teeth only made it all the more endearing. “Nice to see you again this evening, uh, Mr. Strickler.”

“And you too, young Atlas.” he bemusedly stated, gaze sliding between the two teens like they were caught redhanded over something.

Samuel answered Claire's question. “You two can be excused, but remember Claire: bedroom door remains open. I don't want to hear any funny business going on between you and Mr. Lake.”

Strickler chuckled, and the implication and parental embarrassment made both teens blush a harsh red. Claire ducked her head in a nod and respect, grasping Jim's hands and entwining their fingers out of habit and tugging him along upstairs. The conversation between the adults resumed amicably once they were out of earshot, and Claire took him to her room, only keeping the door half-shut to muffle their words.

 

Claire's hand slipped from his rather reluctantly, her words a strained accusation. “Jim, what are you doing here?”

“What am I – what is STRICKLER doing in your home?!” Jim's hands settled on Claire's shoulders, but unlike NotEnrique, he was gentle, clasping and warm. “I shouldn't had have to heard it from your not baby-brother that he was here. You should've told me that you were inviting him. What if he attacked you – or, or did something to your parents and --”

Claire bristled a little, pulling away from Jim's grip with ease. He looked even more hurt, hands flopping to his side uselessly, though her indignation was directed more to NotEnrique for going behind her back than at Jim's concern. “I can handle myself, Jim. I'm quite capable of defending myself AND my family. I was going to tell you about it, but you've been busy with your own stresses and problems. I didn't want to add to that.”

“Claire, you are not a 'problem' or a 'stress' to me.” he points out. “And when were you going to tell me about it? After he'd visited or maybe before Angor Rot decides to betray you. Yes, NotEnrique told me about that.”

“He clearly hasn't told you the full story.” she said, though that only served to further incense the teen boy.

“You're telling me there's MORE to this? Claire – you lied to all of us! If I'd have known.. just the thought of Angor Rot – ”

“This is exactly why I DID lie, Jim!” Her hands balled up into fists, face twisting into hurt of her own, but she didn't want their friendship spoilt because of it. She forced herself to relax, letting her hands fall to his. He was more than happy to hold them, thumb caressing the backs of her hands. “I know what you're like. You would've tried to step in and do what you thought was the heroic thing to do and protect me.”

One of her hands lifted to cup his cheek when his gaze dropped to the floor, nudging it back up to her face. “ – And I appreciate that. I really, really do. But there's a bigger picture to all of this, bigger than Strickler, and even Angor Rot. I knew if I told you, like you're thinking I should've, you would've dived head first into danger. You said it yourself, Jim. You're not ready to face Angor Rot, yet.”

“And you are?” He didn't mean it as an insult, but rather a frank truth. One that he clarified so that it didn't sit as an insult. “ **None** of us are ready to face someone like Angor Rot by ourselves. That's the key word, Claire: ourself. I'm – I'm not upset that you didn't tell me to protect me. I'm upset that we agreed to work together and you shouldered all of this on your own. If we all work together.. I really think we stand a chance against him.”

“Be honest, Jim.” she said, exasperated, yet touched. “Would you really have listened to reason if I said that maybe Angor Rot isn't as bad as the surface makes it look? Yeah, he's killed, and continues to do so – but it's not out of his free will.”

Jim was silent for a moment, gaze searching hers as he reached up and brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear, letting the hand fall to her shoulder. Eventually, the boy sighed, head shaking a little. “It would have been difficult, I'm not going to lie. But I would have believed you, especially since you feel so strongly about this. I am just.. more than a little skeptical though. He's not really being the most helpful, and if NotEnrique's words are anything to go by, he's **hurt** you.”

Claire winced, but squeezed his held hand nonetheless. “Draal hurt you plenty of times and now he lives in your basement as your mentor.”

“Yeah, but Draal also isn't an ancient assassin whose killed probably hundreds of Trollhunters. Which is also something else as well: I have the Daylight armour. I can take those blows.”

“Not out of his free will.” she reminds. “The point is, Draal had a **choice** that he consciously chose to do. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that he's grown so much as well from first meeting. But Angor Rot doesn't have a choice. Strickler is forcing him to hunt you by the Inferna Copula.”

“Okay..” Jim breathed, begrudgingly pulling away from Claire to sit to her bed. She joined him shortly, their hands often subconsciously finding a way to hold eachother in their idleness. She can see that he was still upset over her lying, with all that they had been through, and his stubbornness compelled him to keep fighting her on this. Yet, he could see the reason of what he had to do, and Angor's situation. Even if he didn't have to like it or feel okay about it.

“If he's being forced as you say.. why didn't he come to me about it? You're very capable Claire, but.. I do wield the amulet..”

Claire knew there wasn't an easy way of putting that, but she still flicked his forehead regardless for saying it. Jim accepted such a punishment without complaint.

“Strickler's most involved with you. It'd be likely he'd figure out that Angor Rot was trying to subvert his control if you were trying to get the ring from him.” Jim's face scrunched up at that reasoning. “ – And let's be real, Jim. You can be kinda reckless. You'd probably end up accidentally destroying the ring in a battle with Strickler.”

“I-- I would not.” he indignantly stated, though didn't contest the thought when matched with her pointed look. So instead, he tried; “Don't you think Strickler's probably aware that Angor Rot wants to be free? I mean, you don't have to be a changeling mastermind to think that people hate being enslaved.”

“Well.. when Angor Rot first met me, he said that he can't converse with you in a way that would conspire his freedom. It's probably why he's coming across as so unhelpful and cryptic.” She shrugs. “Plus, even if Strickler was aware, he'd think the efforts would come from you, not me.”

“I'm not so sure about that. He did kinda steal your baby brother.”

Claire stared at him, then laughed. One that felt like the weight of lying on her soul had lifted somewhat, even if Jim looked utterly quizzical as to why she was laughing. He cracked a smile out of uncertainty, waiting for her to explain what was the joke when the fact was so morbid and a source of agony for her. She smiled at him, sobered.

“That's exactly what I said, nearly word for word.” Her smile dropped, returning to seriousness. “Look, we could sit here picking a part Angor's reasoning all day, but that isn't going to get the ring stolen. If we get the ring, we can break the binding spell between your mom and Strickler and finish this for good.”

“This is all assuming Angor Rot keeps to his end of the bargain. I still think it's fishy how he's gone about this.” the Trollhunter says, frowning. “Hasn't he offered you anything to help? No advice, or.. tool?”

“Aside from the Shadowstaff?” Claire sighs, brows drawing into a tight knit as she thought of their encounters. She decided not to mention the fact he'd put the Sigil on her, something she hadn't worked out why he'd done so yet. She thought of all the snippets of advice and words, though none really stick to mind. Then, her face brightens as she remembers. “ – The book!”

“What book?”

Claire darted from the bed to her school bookbag, flipping open the leathery cover to fish around. Hidden behind the thick biology textbooks was the unfamiliar out of place tome. She'd forgotten all about it, aside from a cursory thought about the missing books. Opening it up and a brief skim concluded that it was some kind of spellbook, but the Trollish and runes used were far too ancient and difficult for her comprehension. She showed it to Jim.

“I had picked out those books from Blinky's library. But after Angor Rot met with me, I was missing all but one. I don't even think this is from his library.” she explained, skirting the fact that Angor Rot had headbutted her, or marked her. Jim took ahold of the book, letting his fingers touch the yellowish page, before it dawned on him.

“.. You know, I think I've seen this book before.” he mused, though he didn't sound very sure. “In Strickler's office. Hmm..” He shook his head. “Whatever the case is, we should get this to Blinky.”

 


	7. Lore-keeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trollhunters learn more about the mysterious tome Claire received from Angor Rot. Tobias and Claire settle their differences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I will be busy with Christmas the following days and won't be updating for a while: Merry Christmas! This chapter is shorter than usual, but consider it a small Christmas present from me to you.

As the conversation was wrapping up with Strickler downstairs, Claire and Jim devised a plan to meet up at Trollmarket past their curfews – making sure to stop by Toby's to pick him up as well. Jim would go on ahead, stopping by his friend's house and easily sneaking him out from under his nana's inattentive eye and enter through the door at the canals. Claire, on the other hand, would use the Shadowstaff to create a portal and catch up once her parents were sound asleep.

“Are you sure it's safe to do so?” Jim had asked once they'd settled on the plan. A part of him didn't want to believe that Claire had complete control over the staff, given it's origin as a dark artefact: that sort of magic wasn't something one should get used to. Frankly, the teen girl was just as uncertain as her noble-hearted friend. She felt the staff feed off of her emotions like a leech before, and far more prominently when the portal was clasped between it's prongs. Using it like a quarterstaff was one thing, but to actually tap into the magic within..?

“I have been through a portal made by the staff before.” she reminds him, mind calling back to the very fateful moment that earned her the Skathe-Hrün.. and Angor Rot's attention. She exhaled slowly, drawing in her bottom lip to be bit as her gaze slid away from Jim, wringing her hands. “I think I've got the hang of how to create a portal, at least – and cross through safely.”

“That _was_ a portal of Rot's making, though.” he points out, but after seeing her brows twitch and further uncertainty flicker across her face, he decided to drop the point. The last thing Claire needed was people doubting her, and it was wrong of him to do so, no matter how much he believed it out of concern. He settled a hand on her shoulder – a soft smile blooming across chapped lips once she rested her own hand upon his. “If at any point you think something is going to go wrong, just call me and we'll leave Trollmarket for tomorrow after school.”

Claire shook her head, determined, brown eyes rising to meet startling blue. “No, we'd.. .. I mean, I've wasted enough time by not telling you in the first place. We're going _**tonight**_.”

Jim nodded, squeezing her clasped shoulder in reassurance, even if his grip lingered. Hers too, remained resting on his hand, and for a silent moment they merely enjoyed each other's company. Together, it was easy to forget the disguised troll downstairs until the sound of Strickler's laughter resounded through the house, causing the boy to blink, laugh awkwardly and slip his hand away. Claire shared his embarrassment by tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, though her smile matched Jim's in warmth and love.

They padded out of her room. From the top of the landing, they could see Strickler preparing to leave as well, his coat tucked over his arm politely as he seemed engaged in conversation with her parents. Claire's mother came into view to shake the changeling's outstretched hand strongly, and once the teen girl's feet sounded on the steps, their collective gazes rose up to there. Naturally, the principal held a smile that invited conviviality, though both Claire and Jim knew the veiled contempt he had behind green eyes.

“ – I must say, you have earned my vote in the re-election, Councilwoman.” the professor drawled, letting his hand slip from hers as he prepared his coat, fixing it's collar with practised ease. Claire could see from the corner of her eyes the way Jim's face twisted into a frigid frown, and she entwined her fingers with his, jerking him out of his scowling state. A mask of neutrality quickly slipped on, and he glanced at her in silent gratitude. Strickler's gaze rose to the teens, smile held. “ – and my reference and recommendation to any college you end up pursuing, Claire. I, and the rest of the faculty, would prefer that you decide to take sixth form in our humble institution, but let not your future be shackled to...”

His eyes briefly shifted to Jim. “.. emotional attachments.”

“Of course.” she murmured, feeling the Trollhunter's grip on her hand tighten just a touch at the principal's implication. For half a moment, he held her gaze pointedly, before nodding in their direction and donning his felt hat, leaving shortly after. The teens lingered on the stairway before Maria addressed them.

“Is Mrs Lake coming to pick you up? I'm sure Samuel wouldn't mind dropping you off– ”

“No, that's alright, Mrs. Nuñez. I'm going to bike to Tobes' and sleep over there. It's closer than my home anyway, shouldn't take more than ten minutes.” said Jim, descending the rest of the stairs and begrudgingly letting go of Claire's hand. Maria's brows furrowed worriedly, looking towards the time. Torn between letting her mother's instinct insist that her husband drop him off and reluctantly letting him go on his own as he wasn't her kid nor was he a child at all, she decided on the latter.

“Alright. Bike safely.” Claire's father looked a little relieved he didn't have to shepherd Jim to his home and after exchanging their good-byes, the teen girl watched his retreating form before it disappeared behind the closed front door.

 

Returning to her room, Claire made sure to shut the door before turning to the book. It looked innocuous: hard cover, made out of what she could assume was brown leather. At least that was what the texture felt like, though it lacked any definitive odour of tanned rawhide. The closest approximation was.. well, stone, unsurprisingly. She decided to browse it's contents whilst she waited for it to be safe enough for her to portal out without her mother checking in before retiring.

The pages felt ancient, like even the slightest touch would crumble them to dust. She made a mental note to curb her habit of tabbing the pages with a dog-ear and invest in a bookmark as she sat on her bed, desk lamp turned to the faded text. She trailed the first line of Trollish language with the tip of her index finger, face pulled taught in concentration as she struggled to translate it in her mind. The troll texts she'd read before were not particularly difficult to grasp – more so that it was rife with odd phonology and contradictory semantics. In any case, she picked up that it wasn't in lieu with any of the other works actually written _by_ a troll, but it was undoubtedly _for_ them.. or the magical world surrounding them.

It steepened the mystery surrounding the book – especially Jim's comment with having noticed it, or something similar, in Strickler's office. The man's contacts were vast and far-reaching: the possibilities of where he acquired such text was simply endless. She would just have be content with her unresting curiosity until Blinky could clarify more on the matter. She turned the page, halting entirely when she saw something hastily scribbled in the margin of the ancient book in decidedly more modern red ink.

Awe wrestled with her piqued ire at a defaced book, however the former won out when she recognized Strickler's handwriting, even when it was scribbled in Cymric or – _some_ mutation of the Brittonics. The rest of the book began to make a little more sense in her eyes when she viewed the book's words as not Trollish (at least, not inherently) but in a scope of the history of troll culture: specifically the wizards and witches that was interlinked with them –

She heard the master bedroom's door shut. Her parents had retired, then. Her hand instinctively went to the corner of the page before they faltered. She forced herself to shut the book before she could tag that page, easing it from her lap to the bed as she reached for the Shadowstaff. She had gotten the hang of it enough that she didn't need to devote much effort into activating it, however creating portals was not something she subconsciously could do. Claire supposed that was a good thing: the staff fed off of negativity, demanding it from her like a leech or a parasite draining blood, so it must have meant good things for demeanour.

Her thoughts naturally turned to the staff's original owner. Claire did not believe Angor Rot had to make anything even related to a passing thought to utilise the full potential of the artefact.

Exhaling slowly, she focused on the assassin. The previous injustice she felt towards his circumstance hadn't wavered, but it wasn't empowering the staff quite like it had before. She frowned, but thought nothing off it, trying to instead frustrate herself. It was hard to do when she was aware that she was berating herself on purpose. Opening her eyes, her frown grew at the petrified white bark of the stick. Sadly, her feeling of ineptitude didn't do much to provide fuel for the dark magic.

Instead, she made herself think about the disappointment on her friend's faces, even if Jim had the courtesy to be contrite about feeling as such. She thought of Toby's open defiance towards her, as if every accusation he gave was underlined with the implication that she was working with the 'bad guys' – and willingly, too. She bristled. The colour of void swallowed the white of the bark, and she could feel the power pool inbetween the prongs. She pointed the staff forward, following that train of thought until she was staring into a inky nothingness that resembled a starless sky.

Scooping the tome into her hands, Claire stepped through the portal.

 

When she emerged to the other side, the teen girl was relieved to see the familiar cavern light of heart stone and other crystal formations that illuminated Trollmarket. Most of them had adapted to be nocturnal, though many trolls still functioned during the day. The late hours of the weekday merely made up for a less-than-busy market, but like many areas of commerce, it never truly slept. She made sure to deactivate the staff and store the hilt away, remembering how much of a panic even something remotely 'evil' the trolls could get into – enough to work up into a frenzy. If a changeling in Trollmarket could incite mass hysteria, then she didn't want to think what Skathe-Hrün, eldritch staff and favoured weapon of Angor Rot, would cause.

With both arms wrapped around the hefty tome, she kept it close to her chest as she walked towards Blinky's library. She never stopped in her tracks once, though did at least offer the passing trolls a respectful nod or a courtesy smile. Some of which were never returned, others with an additional glare. She may have impressed them with her knowledge previously, but some trolls were stubborn as rocks and couldn't see past the fact she was human.

Turning her attention back to her journey, she spotted the messy locks of hair on the back of Jim's and Toby's heads a little ways in the library entrance. It seemed they had just arrived as well.

“ – Ah! Excellent timing, Claire.” Blinky stated once she was close enough, gesturing towards her with one of his four arms to join them. She was met with her friends' gazes, and similarly ducked her head. “Jim was telling me you are in possession of a special book.. ?”

“Yes,” she curtly said, cutting in between the two boys to place the large grimoire on the table. Each of Blinky's eyes nearly buggered out of their sockets, but either it be out of surprise or something far worse, she didn't know. She stepped back to join the two humans equally, watching the troll graze his hand across the surface of the book's cover and very gently open it.

“... Well one thing is for certain,” he mused, more to himself than to the teens, turning each page with great care, like the text itself was either horrendously cursed – or unimaginably sacred. Given the growing apprehension, Claire believed it to be the former. The troll continued; “ – It is not from my library.”

“Can you tell us where it is from?” asked Jim, weight shifting from one foot to another as the contemplative silence the elder troll kept slipping in did not bode well for his anxiety. Blinky did not answer for the longest time, sifting through the pages up until he stumbled across the same Cymric as Claire had. He tapped at the added notes with a little scorn, clearly sharing the girl's disgust for modifying books in such a manner

“It's exact origin, author, and intention, Master Jim?” Jim nodded hopefully. “No. But what I _**can**_ tell you is that it is – or was – in the hands of that foul changeling. He is lucky I cannot decipher his kind's code. He calls himself a professor and an advocate of learning, yet defaces such ancient text! I pray this is not the original copy, _whatever_ it may be.”

"Can't NotEnrique decipher the code like last time?" Tobias pitched in, but was met with a shake of the troll's head.

"I'm afraid this kind is far, _far_ older than NotEnrique. It is more in lieu with Angor Rot's age than of **either** changeling." At his dumbstruck look, Blinky clarified; "Volume nine of our compendium encompasses the linguistics, if you've cared to read our lore."

“The inscription here, Blinky.” supplied Claire, moving to lightly backtrack a few pages behind the annotated work. “Doesn't this look like an incantation? It's written like a recitative.”

The troll browsed the section in question, with only a few of his eyes shifting to indicate he was reading where she was pointing, and the page opposite as well. A small prideful smile touched upon his rocky face. “Well spotted, Claire! This is indeed an incantation for a spell. Not a very useful one, mind you, unless you wanted to shine silver with twice the effort it would take than if you simply polished it yourself. At the very least, it clues us into the nature of this book.”

“Am I the only one that's finding it a _little_ weird that Claire's in possession of this book?”

All eyes turned to Toby, whom looked as if he was the only one that had any sense left in the group. It was Jim's look of bewilderment that prompted him to continue, gaze directed to the girl in question with just a hint of hurt betrayal hidden behind his eyes. “I mean, you're clearly buddy-buddy enough with Angor Rot that in the who-knows-how many times he's visited you, you're not dead AND you still have the staff. You invited Strickler to your house, for God's sake, and now you're in possession of a strange, changeling-annotated book?”

He finished simply with; “I'm just saying I don't think we should trust whatever's written in this book.”

Claire could feel her temper rising. On the one hand, she felt a mixture of upset and utter boiling rage that Toby would think so little of her, to think her a traitor. Yet on the other hand, she begrudgingly could see his point of view. She'd lied, kept secrets and ultimately been evasive, believing she was protecting her friends by doing so. In the end.. she just ended up hurting them herself. She gently touched Jim's elbow to silence him before he stepped to her defence, and answered.

“I agree, Toby.” He definitely wasn't expecting that. “ – I don't think we can trust this book either if it came from Strickler's office, or from his possession. We don't even know the author. But,”

She turned to Blinky. “If you can work on reading it in more detail, there could be something useful we can use, if you believe it safe to do so. I think, Angor Rot wanted me to look at this book myself, but.. we don't have that time anymore, and six eyes are better than two.”

He nodded, his smile broadening at her bright thinking. Tobias didn't seem fully satisfied with her answer regarding his suspicions and issues with how it looked at the surface, recovering from his blunder to cross his arms. Jim took this moment to step in, tugging them both away from Blinky as he begun to set up a deeper reading of it's text.

“Look,” the Trollhunter stated. “If there's going to be an issue between you two, we need to sort it out _now_ rather than later. We can't let something like this effect us as we're going off to recover the other stones or fight Angor Rot – and I know that look, Tobes. I'm not siding with you _or_ Claire.”

“Since when did you take the moral high ground? She lied to _you_ too!” the other teen boy huffed, attention turning back to the aforementioned liar. “I just don't understand why you felt the need to lie to US, of all people. I mean, I get your parents or Darci and Mary, they're like, civvies. But we're your friends!”

“You haven't made me feel much like one,” Claire pointed out through gritted teeth, hands falling to her hips in a stance reminiscent to the one her mother took when she was barking orders at the town hall. “Ever since I found out about Jim being the Trollhunter, and this whole other world, it's like you've been trying to push me out. It felt even worse when I got the Shadowstaff, because then you start accusing me of being treacherous, like the staff gave you enough 'evidence.'”

“So, what, you didn't tell us out of spite? To get back at us – ”

“No and you _**know**_ that's not it, Toby!” she exhaled a long, drawn-out, frustrated sigh, briefly running a hand through the messy dyed locks of blue, before it fell back to her hip. They both knew he was reaching, though she didn't blame him. Eventually, she finally said; “.. I'm sorry, that I didn't tell you, or Jim. I really.. just wanted to protect you guys. I was way, in over my head..”

That was when Jim stepped in, affirming; “From now on, we work as a team. We work best when we put all our efforts together.”

“It's not Trollhunt _er_ , it's Trollhunter _ **s**_.” added Toby, fondly recalling their first time assembling such a group. Claire smiled, nodding her head slightly and lightly ruffling the tops of their hairs. She could tell that there was still some lingering doubt in Toby, but judging from his small smile, he'd already forgiven her. They couldn't afford to fight amongst themselves whilst they had threats to deal with.

As Claire was about to suggest returning home, Blinky's voice cut through swiftly.

“Master Jim, Tobias, Claire – I believe you all will want to see this.”


	8. Darganfyddiad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trollhunters gang make a startling discovery about the nature, and the author of the book, something that will allow them to break the bond between Strickler and Barbara. Vendal steps in to put them in line, and Angor Rot makes good on his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've all had a great Holiday! I honestly didn't expect that I would be updating so soon, but all of my studies went on break for the holiday and I'm pretty caught up, so I actually have some free time during the early morning when the family is in bed.

The three teens returned back to Blinky's library to look at the discovery he had made. The book remained in the centre of the circular table, with the text a mixture of ancient inscribed runes and Strickler's modern commentary hovering above it in hastily written – almost frustrated – annotation. It was eye-catching at a glance, and absolutely intriguing when one spared longer than a cursory glance. Gathering around the table, the four-armed troll gestured for Jim. He blinked, but took middle stage nonetheless, aware of his friends peering over or around him.

Claire begun to feel her previous ire for Strickler's lack of care on written work lift as an awed smile started to form on her lips – one shared by Blinky, no doubt making the same conclusion she had. She thought back to her earlier commentary about one of the incantation's written like recitative, and whilst that seemingly useless spell lacked the changeling's red pen, this one was complete. Or, as the pieces of the puzzle began to fill: something else _**entirely**_.

“So..” Tobias began as the silence began to make his anxiety nibble at his nerves, eyes drifting from page to person, before back to book. One of his hands rested on the surface of the table. “.. You wanted to show us a bunch of illegible scribbles? Honestly, I thought Strickler's feedback was hard to read. His penmanship is worse than my dentist's.”

“Perhaps Master Jim would be so kind as to illuminate the situation?” Jim stared blankly at Blinky, clueless. The troll cleared his throat until it occurred to the boy hero what his mentor actually meant.

“Oh, duh.” he commented, grumbling something about not thinking of it earlier. He reached into his skinny jean's pocket to pull out the amulet of Merlin, watching the stony hands make their revolve around the inner celestial sphere. It hummed silently; instead it's power feeling like a vibration in the palm of his hand. His fingers itched when enclosed around the metal and stone, slowly inching towards the ancient page. He wasn't quite sure if the heat alone from the amulet would set them ablaze. Thankfully, no such thing happen when he turned over his palm.

The blue light cast over a single page of the large tome and .. nothing. The page remained illuminated, though not a _**single**_ rune nor word changed. Nothing was revealed. This fact caused Blinky to perk up in such a way that it even worried Jim for a moment, face scrunched in utter confusion, sharing the look with Tobias. Especially when Claire seemed so taken aback, disbelief of not having caught on sooner.

“I had never thought it possible, that this book would ever find itself into my hands. In my library. If my brother knew of what we have before us, he would – he would be so proud! After the initial heart attack of it being so dark in nature, of course but – ” the troll jabbered on, much to the poor perplexity of his human companions. “The amulet is useless, Master Jim!”

“Okay, I think someone is a little overworked and has crossed that mad-genius level of insanity.” the boy Atlas said, drawing the artefact of good away to the safety of his pocket once more. His hands fell to his hips worriedly, weight shifting to his other foot. “From the sounds of things, even you don't understand what these runes say, so all we have is a bunch of shapes and Strickler's commentary.”

“It's not his notes, Jim,” Claire stated, almost breathless as she reigned her wits in, grin still present. “It's _**translation**_! I knew it was odd he'd deface such an old book in such a way, and since spell incantations work like a.. a chant, or a mantra – it's like a song sheet! Strickler's been trying to translate the book!”

“Well he's not doing a very good job of it picking some sort of changeling code.” intoned Tobias.

“I believe our Stricklander did not intend for this tome to be of use outside of himself, and his order.” said Blinky, taking over as Jim stepped aside from him to take centre, each one of his four hands pointing at various entries, words and scribbled notes encapsulated in the page. “I initially thought it _**was**_ code, given as I did not recognize it at first. But the amulet's lack of effect upon it leads me to suspect that this is no spellbook of Merlin, or any of his apprentices or good witches, wizards and warlocks. It is, in fact, _Morgan le Fay's_.”

He quickly adds as an afterthought: “ _Mostly_ le Fay's work. There are other contributors.. perhaps, her own neophytes and acolytes. Modern ones – by a Troll's standard. Parts of this book is coherent with our language, but the rest here seems to be still in the process of being translated.”

The two boys stared at Blinky at the revelation, uncertain how to process it. Merlin himself was a man of legend. Jim's hand instinctively rested over the amulet in his pocket, the one said built and enchanted by the master magician himself. But to think that other such sorcerers existed.. it made sense in hindsight: if Merlin did, then no doubt many other Arthurian characters existed at some point. Claire took this as her cue to step in.

“Which makes the language Strickler is writing in, not a code, but.. Old Welsh.” she pauses, her smitten smirk at the discovery faltering when it dawned on her. “.. and still makes it _**completely**_ unreadable by us. Welsh is one thing, but, uh, this is clearly a little older. We're back where we're started.”

“Not true.” each of Blinky's eyes twinkled, two of his hands clasping behind his back, radiating with beaming success. “There is a troll here in Trollmarket that is old enough to know this language.”

Their realizations were unanimously voiced: “Vendal!”

 

When it came to light what the translated text was for, Vendal anticipated the line of questioning that would follow and immediately boomed: “Absolutely _not_.”

The wizened troll leaned heavily onto his heartstone staff, milky eyes staring balefully at the tome he had thrown to the forge's workbench in distaste, as if even having his stony fingers touch the dark, leather cover had stained his soul, tainted his essence, once he learned of whom the author was through the language alone. He ought to have Blinky and the Trollhunter expunged from Trollmarket for even inviting such a dark spellbook into their sanctuary, yet as an educator and preserver of knowledge himself: taking measures against wisdom or heaven forbid banning books caused more problems than it solved.

Vendal watched the mixed looks of pleading, anger and rising fury from the group, jaw clenched sharply. He knew that he must appear to be a stubborn, immovable rock at times to their wily missions and haywire plans, but he had more than just his own life to consider: he had the entirety of Trollmarket depending on him to ensure their safety, through the Trollhunter and other means. It was not because of his prejudice against humans or changelings as they thought (though it no doubt played a small part of it) but a far more worrying reason to his denial.

He whirled to Claire first, pointing a stubby finger at her, alarm flashing briefly through her brown eyes. “ – and you, I'm _disappointed_ in you. Still in possession of the staff, I see. And using it, no less!”

She mimicked him perfectly with the way her jaw clenched in apprehension before she answered, minding to keep her tone at least somewhat respectful to the elder; “Skathe-Hrün is a powerful tool that is better in our hands than it is in Rot's. It's incredibly useful.”

“Yes, yes, useful up until it corrupts your very soul. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one of this..” His eyes scanned between human hunter, rotund sidekick and herself, and all of a sudden it felt like the first time he met them, disapproval oozing out of ever crack and rough patch of stone hide. “.. first and last defence of our sanctity. Mark my words, girl, the staff possesses an insatiable hunger and you, are not an infinite resource.”

He addressed the entire group with a thump of his staff to prevent Jim from speaking. He could see the boy's ire raise and he'd already stepped forward to contest his words, but alas, Vendal foresaw it and spoke. “Whilst this is indeed the incantation you seek to break the bond between Jim's mother and the changeling, I will not allow you to bring either one here, to Trollmarket.”

Regardless if Vendal was going to continue or not, Jim's frustration got the better of him and he agitatedly stated; “But you're the only one who can probably even cast it here, let alone _read_ it. I frankly don't trust that Rot will make good on his promise and break the bond between them. Trollmarket is the safest place to bring them without the interference of him.”

Jim's lionhearted courage cowered a moment when Vendal's cloudy eyes were like smokes of volcanic ash: heated, acrid and burning. “It is precisely BECAUSE of Angor Rot that I will not have that changeling in Trollmarket! Not whilst he still wears the Inferna Copula!” The old troll grouched, and he very much looked like a crabby ram ready to headbutt them all out. Thankfully, he settled for flaying words instead.

“Deal with Angor Rot first, then you may bring the half-breed and your mother into our market. After their bond is severed, we may banish or execute the changeling for his crimes against Trollkind.”

Uneasiness settled over the teens – even Blinky looked a little grim. Death was still a difficult thing for them to stomach, let alone being the ones to inflict it upon others. Tobias thought it would've been a lot easier given Rot's status as an assassin, but no matter how hard he tried to internally assure himself it was the right thing to do, his stomach did not settle with Vendal's words of finality. He looked between a crestfallen Claire and Jim, who was wrestling between what he thought was the right thing to do, a distant betrayal towards the elder and yet begrudging understanding of his reasoning.

Thus, it was Toby who began, not even believing the words were coming out of his mouth; “We.. kinda.. can't deal with Angor Rot.”

All eyes turned to him. He cringed a little, but he tended to compensate his awkwardness and shyness with over confidence and continued. “Don't get me wrong, I'm sure we'd all be able to take him down after missing a limb or two or getting turned to stone by his 'No-Antidote' envenomed dagger, but callousness aside, Jimbo's got that freaky mark. What if like, killing Rot kills Jim too? It's like, the bond between the Dr. L and Strickler but, less creepy. Actually, probably a whole lot more creepy.”

They hadn't considered the possibility of the potential of the sigil, but once it came to light, the look of horror on the Trollhunter's face bordered on priceless, to earth-shattering. Toby, feeling himself cringe even harder at making it worse, quickly added: “I'm just tryin' to make sure we know every single possibility. Y'know, troll magic is crazy stuff.”

It took all of Claire's willpower not to raise a shaking hand to touch where her own mark was, as well as to keep her fear centred on the prospect of losing Jim. She did not have to fake it to look convincing.

Vendal scowled. “In Trollhunter's past, there has been no reports that such a thing has ever happened.” Although none of them had ever been able to take down Rot, they had damaged or hurt him without feeling similar effects themselves. Yet the fact there was doubt in his tone – _**reasonable**_ doubt, made him huff. Losing Jim would be tragic, but the amulet would find a new Hunter. He frowned at his own morbid, yet pragmatic thinking. “Be that as it may – ”

“If we cannot bring Strickler and my mom into Trollmarket,” said Jim, recovering swiftly at the fear-inducing revelation Tobias provided them, only by the virtue he valued the safety of his mother over his own. He briefly pinched the bridge of his nose, the heated debate having worn at him, but he soldiered on. “Can _**you**_ not leave it? We can devise a plan to trap Strickler at my house. Draal's in the basement, so.. you'll be pretty secure.”

“Me, leave Trollmarket?” Vendal gawked. “Unattended? Where Angor Rot may strike us as he pleases? I think not, Trollhunter.”

“Then perhaps,” voiced Blinky since the first time the meeting began, “You can teach one of us the incantation.”

The elder pursed his rocky lips, trying to find fault with the plan, as was custom. Surprisingly, it was one of the most sound ideas that had been given yet. Both trolls and humans were inherently magical, although the latter could go their entire lifetime without even knowing magic existed, it didn't make them unable to cast spells, concoct magical potions or use their artefacts. The teens before him certainly possessed the determination to try. Jim would not make a decent candidate, as he no doubt would have to pacify Strickler or an attack from Angor Rot during the spell. His gaze drifted between Tobias and Claire.

It fell upon Claire without much deliberation. She was already trilingual and familiar with modern Trollish. Her companions followed his gaze to her, and she shifted uncomfortably with the attention. Vendal leant on his staff with a great, long sigh exhaling from his nose, lids feeling so heavy in that moment. Despite the heartstone always so close to him, he felt tired, drained, and so very _old_.

“Very well.” he said, much to the faint hope on their faces. “I will teach Claire the incantation. But _**only**_ , the incantation. I shall not have you pursue an ambition to translate the rest of this book after this is over, no matter how much you want to learn of our language. We will take the rest of the night to do so, as time is pressing enough as is.”

Claire tried to suppress a small smile with not much luck. As Vendal waved a dismissive hand to the rest of them, the girl turned towards her friends and clasped their shoulders. “I'll let you two figure out a plan on how we're actually gonna do this once I know the spell.”

“You can count on us, _Shadowdancer_.” said Toby with a wink, though Jim's face hadn't much changed from the resigned, distant fear, he did manage to return her small smile and a nod. Claire was bewildered for a moment, until she remembered that was her troll-hunting name. Even if she reluctantly found herself liking the comparisons to Artemis that Rot had made. A fitting deity to go alongside Jim's Atlas, as she was sure that was the assassin's intention. As to why.. she didn't know.

 

Claire was taken aback by how different Vendal was when he was teaching as opposed to leading his people of Trollmarket. It might've helped that she was a decent enough pupil, and it was hard to goof off when the material she was learning was going to save her friend's mother, and that there were no other 'students' in the forge-like area of the central Heartstone chamber. Admittedly – and she really hated to admit it, even internally – Strickler was still the best teacher she'd ever had, now that she had an adequate comparison. Not to say Vendal was bad: but it was refreshing to be able to compare them.

He was patient with her, correcting her pronunciation with soft, yet firm interjections rather than angrily reprimanding her for butchering the ancient language. It was very difficult, but she had learned one of the most complex languages as her second language: mastering Welsh, even an old, out-dated version, shouldn't be impossible. Plus, it was only a few sentences she would have to repeat.

Once she gotten the hang of how the sentences had to go, the rhythmic quality of the song-speak began to take shape. The way certain sounds were annotated to be held gave off a melodic vibe to the old tongue. It made her think of Latin recitals, of a prayer crafted through hymn. Even though she didn't have the best singing voice, even Claire was amazed by how it sounded when she actually got a part of the incantation correct. Vendal, for the most part, had his eyes closed and leaned heavily on his staff. She could tell he had no need to watch her lips, he was hearing and counting every beat. Every syllable and vowel. She idly wondered if all spells were cast in the same way, or if it was simply Morgan le Fay's style.

“Again,” Vendal's voice broke through her concentration, and her eyes drifted to the top of the translated page. Strickler's words began to make more and more sense the more she looked at it, her mind able to break down his hastily scrawled notes, although she had since copied the incantation on a spare bit of parchment that Vendal provided, able to process the words in her own handwriting, something that was said to aide her learning visually. She repeated the words, and she saw his head dip a little, as if he'd fallen asleep standing up.

“Again.” he merely repeated, before adding; “This time, without looking at the page.”

Closing the book to avoid temptation and turning her copied transcript around, she tried again, though by the third sentence, she tried to recall in her minds eye what it was, struggling. She held the note for too long, which caused Vendal to open his eyes.

“Try not to visualize the words in your head.” He said, surprising her with his astute guess. “ _ **Feel**_ the magic, the power. Embody it.”

_Embody Artemis._

Claire shifted her weight to her other foot, glad that Vendal closed his eyes soon after so that he missed her conflicted look, gesturing for her to try again. She stole a glance at the words to familiarize herself once more, before beginning.

By the time it was far past midnight, her throat was hoarse, her muscles protested for the discomfort from the stone bench, and for standing too long, she had mastered the incantation enough to recite it decently from her page, and with promise from memory. It was not much, but it was the best outcome they could've hoped for in such a small time frame. Vendal looked vaguely pleased, if a little proud at her progress. He ruefully wished that the amulet of Merlin had chosen her to be the Trollhunter, but he did not question the amulet's choice: there was a reason it chose Jim over Claire, or even over any Troll.

He finally dismissed her, to which she was all too happy to get home. Claire decided to take the book with her, given how much Vendal protested to it earlier. She would have to take the long way from the canals, as she had little to no strength left to summon a reliable portal. The troll elder may have had a point when he said that it's hunger was insatiable: even now, she could feel the hilt's discontent with a lack of sustenance. She glared at her bag, before dragging her weary self to the crystal steps.

Pulling out her phone, she idly browsed what she missed as she ascended. A couple of missed texts from Jim, which more or less asked how it went and that he and Toby had came up with a plan – but he'd rather tell in person than over the phone. She paused at the entrance to Trollmarket to type a quick message to say of her progress and a quick goodnight. She barely even paid heed to her actions when her thumb instinctively pressed a couple of the kissing face and heart emoji's. It was only after she hit send that she noticed it.

Staring at her phone screen, Claire decided she was far too tired to deal with the aftermath.

It was quite starry when she emerged from Trollmarket, a soft smile gracing her lips at the clear night. She wasn't afraid of walking back home to the unassuming, quiet neighbourhood – and worst case scenario, she did have the Shadowstaff which would most likely feast upon the fight or flight of an attack. With one hand clasped over her bag's strap to keep it secure, her mind drifted to earlier moments, unaware of the small, yellow firefly buzzing purposefully towards her. She thought she heard some kind of tittering, devilish laughter for a moment – and then it was gone.

Claire froze up when she felt a fly hit the groove of her inner ear and cringing, she idly swatted at her ear, trying to bat away the insect. Something felt.. off. Like she was becoming rapidly aware of the cold of the night. She wrapped her arms around herself and power-walked on, only to feel as if her legs petrified at the sound of familiar, gurgling laughter.

“En.. Enrique..?” she whispered, terrified, eyes as wide as saucers. Claire shook her head. That couldn't be possible – and yet her mind betrayed her, willing her that it was. Enrique was here! Her baby brother! She was in disbelief, yet a sight of blonde, fluffy hair and a diaper-clad baby crawling off just out of her field of vision confirmed it in her. She had never been more sure, though she had no idea why she was sure.

“Enrique!” Tears welled up into her eyes and regardless of her tired muscles, she broke out into a sprint after the retreating figure, hand outstretched. She didn't care if she woke the whole neighbourhood, right now her mind was fixated on one thing. “Enrique!!” she called again, desperately looking around. Another faint laugh. She bolted in the direction of the alley where it came.

“Enrique,” she sobbed pleadingly, furiously wiping at her eyes so she didn't bash into something as she chased after the phantom – no, her REAL brother – hands trembling. She came to a stop when the alley revealed to be a dead end, yet still she pushed onwards, hands pressing into the unforgiving brick wall, tears still silently streaming no matter how much she tried to stop them. She heard another laugh, and she turned around – stunned to see Enrique so close.

There he was, just, _**standing**_ there. With that same goofy, one-toothed smile, those wisps of blonde hair that stuck upwards, defiant to gravity. She hobbled towards her baby brother, shaking hands rising to cup his cheeks. She didn't care how oddly cold yet centrally warm and stone-like they felt, all her mind was screaming that this was Enrique. Any question as to how he got taller than her, how he was _**HERE**_ , was deafened under that psychic scream.

“Enrique,” she breathed, willing her legs not to collapse from under her. “I w-will never let you out of my sight a-again,” she hiccuped, a fresh stream of bitter tears dripping. “I will g-guard your crib every night –“

As she continued to ramble to the spectre of Enrique, the truth was in fact a very amused Angor Rot watching the effects of the pixie's hallucination wreak havoc on her mental strength. He let out a disappointed _tut_ , expecting more from his supposed competition once he announced her a hunter. But it achieved what he desired – as well as revealing her deepest fear to him. His clawed hand rested on her shoulder, where her bag's strap lay.

He mused at how her greatest fear was not what he expected from humans: their mortality. She did not fear death more than she feared the horror of her brother's situation. She truly was the brave Artemis: like steel to her self, yet fears stemming from the companions she hunted with, or the beasts she gamed.

“Enrique, you can play with my bag later,” she laughed humourlessly, one of her hand's falling from the Angor's cheek to try and swat his hand away. “I've got to get you home.”

“I wonder if you would fear your death if you knew how truly close to it you was,” the troll said a loud. It didn't matter if Claire heard him: the pixie's work scrambled her reasoning. He tugged her bag off her shoulder, opening it to retrieve the book. He eyed it successfully, grinning down at her blissfully unaware, tear-stained face. “It's a shame you could not see the devastation unleashed on your school. No matter, the following school days cancelled to clean up shall give you a few more precious days. You should be thankful.”

“Enrique, is that the story book you've picked out? Come on, give it to me, I'll read it to you.”

Tucking the book under his arm, he callously backhanded her with more than enough force necessary to knock the pixie out of her head. She stumbled back at the strike, head turned away as a startled, strangled noise of pain left her.

When Claire stopped seeing stars, she grimly wiped the shallow cut across her cheek, she found she was alone, confused, in an alley, with her bag feeling ten times lighter. She didn't remember getting mugged, or even ending up in the alley. There was simply just a blank mental gap between when she left Trollmarket, to now. Claire rubbed at her stinging cheek, a bit alarmed, but nevertheless moved to return home. She was far too tired.


	9. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim confides in Claire over text. The Trollhunters gang breaks the news to Barbara about the truth. The plan is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second to last chapter. The finale promises to be a lot of action and a lot of interesting interaction between Claire and Angor Rot, something that has just been waiting to come into fruition. Chapter 11 will be a bonus chapter of cut scenes, commentary, and is exclusive to Ao3. I do apologize this just seems to be a lot of setting up and talking, but I hope it was still just as enjoyable as the rest. I look forward to revealing the final chapter!

One of the first things Claire did when she got home was tiptoe up to her room, kick off her shoes to the beanbag in the corner and throw herself onto her bed. She had half a mind to fall asleep right then and there, but her mind nagged at her insensately, keeping her awake. Heavy, closed eye-lids opened and she rolled over to her side, to her suspiciously lighter bag. It didn't take a genius to realize Morgan le Fay's spellbook was gone and she suspected foul play rather than a mugger. Who robs someone of their books and not the fifty pounds emergency money in her wallet? Someone who wasn't human.

At the very least, her parchment tucked in between her note-taking book was still there, complete with the spell's translated incantation. Although the prospect of the spellbook being in evil's hands did not sit well in her gut, it had been in Strickler's – and by extent, the Janus Order's – possession for who knows how long up until that brief moment. If anything was to come of it: Claire suspected it would have happened sooner rather than later. She reached for her phone, staring blankly at the text screen to her friend Jim. He hadn't replied since her embarrassing, emoji-filled message. She had the decency to cringe before texting.

' _Hey. You still up?_ '

A minute passes before she saw the triple dots and she sat up surprised. Tossing her bag off her bed, she shrugged off her jacket, not really caring if she slept in her band tee and leggings as she curled under the covers, awaiting Jim's reply. She didn't know why a hoard of butterflies swarmed her stomach in a frenzy, creating an anticipation she isn't sure what it was for. It was just texting. Why was she smiling? Her internal inquisition was abruptly cut short as Jim's text flashed on screen.

' _Yeah. Today has been CRAZY. I just realized that the plan Tobes and I came up with is going to involve telling my mom. You know, about the whole Troll-world and the fact she's psuedo-dating Satan in changeling form. Tobes nickname, not mine.'_

It hadn't occurred to Claire that Jim hadn't told her yet. She assumed that the doctor would figure it out, being how astute she was at ascertaining an illness, symptom or anything biological. It helped that Draal also lived in her basement and was the antithesis of subtlety. But she supposed like any mother, she was blind out of love to whatever afflicted her own son. Be it subconscious denial that her baby was suffering or purposeful avoidance. She doubted it was the latter.

She decided to offer sympathetic support, her text coming minutes later after waiting an appropriate amount of time so that she didn't seem too desperate. No matter how much she asked herself why it mattered when nobody knew they were texting each other. _My god_ , she thought. _Mary's mannerisms have finally rubbed off. I'm socially doomed to flourish._

_'Maybe you should start with something other than the Strickler reveal. She might zone in on that and as a first impression, it's not good.'_ A second text was sent shortly after. _'Introduce her to Draal, seeing as he's squatting in your basement. On second thought, maybe introduce her to Blinky first, he's bound to make a good impression.'_

Jim's response was swift: _'Can't with Blinkster. She might recognize him from when he was a human. I can trust Draal, I think, not to make a real git of himself. He's kinda wanted to meet the quote, matron of the Lake tribe, properly. I think he wants to fight her. Mom'll give him a run for his money, she had to restrain a man at least twice her size once.'_

Claire wheezed out a quiet laugh, smiling at her phone screen, glad to see that the boy-hero hadn't lost his quirky sense of humour despite all of the stress she'd witnessed him under. It put her in high spirits and was summarily impressed with Jim's ability to keep on trucking, no matter how much she knew the magical bond between his mom and Strickler caused him endless grief. The changeling was perhaps, aside from Bular and Angor Rot, the first person that Jim disregarded his inward rule about not having to kill unless necessary.

By the time she'd calmed, Jim had sent a much more sober text. ' _I am kinda dreading telling her about Strickler.. I feel like even though it's him that's done all the lying, I'll be the one hurting her, since I told her. I think she genuinely loves him and god do I wanna puke having to type that.'_

Claire's brows dipped sympathetically, even though Jim couldn't see them. She was flattered that he was confiding in her, given how he rarely did so: even to Blinky or Tobes. He often shouldered much of his duty to himself, which made the Atlas comparison all the more fitting. He spoke a lot about them being a team, yet she could see his actions were detaching away from that idea. When things got truly dangerous, he seemed reluctant to throw anyone but himself head first into hell. It was endearing, but at the same time disheartening. She had half a mind to believe he didn't trust them, not completely, but she hadn't known Jim as long as Tobias, and stuck to the older friend's belief in their mutual buddy.

She was writing her reply during her musing, so that he didn't think she was ignoring him. It was slow, with a few rewrites, but eventually sent. _'She will get hurt either way. I'd wager she'd have wanted Strickler to be honest with her than hear it from you, but it's better to KNOW than to just, believe it's a lie. The point is, it's not your fault, Jim. You got to remember they're adults. Something like this isn't like the drama at school. Mary lying to Tom which school she's in just so she can snog him is nowhere near the same as what's happening between Strickler and Ms. Lake.'_

Naturally, Jim's stubbornness somehow made him reply faster than was humanly possible: _'I am an adult, Claire. I can understand. I DO understand. He's a smarmy snake trying to intimidate me by using my mom, it's not social science.'_

_'You're sixteen, Jim. Maybe you can pass as eighteen given how lanky you are, but you aren't eighteen. You refuse to believe the possibility that maybe Strickler grew to love her. Maybe not when he started this asinine plan, but after, maybe..'_

_'Oh, and you're so wise, you grandma. I'm older than you by a few months! Also, I'm pretty sure a troll falling in love with a human is the grossest, world-shattering thing possible. I don't want to even imagine it.'_

_'Then start acting like you are, you twit! Trolls have probably been around longer than our ancestors learned how to make arrowheads. It's probably not the first time something like this has happened. I mean, don't you think it would be a tiny bit weird how trolls and goblins know how to care so properly for a human baby if they've never had to interact or handle one before?'_

_'You can get quite shirty sometimes, you know that, Claire?'_

Claire had to suppress her laughter, muffling it under the palm of her hand as she read their playful banter. There was no ill between them: when the awkwardness of talking in person drifted away, it broke into a comfortable hilarity of sarcastic chat and witty retorts. But it had the desired effect nevertheless: she could just imagine that he was smiling as much as she was, and that he felt marginally better about the situation. A small frown then intervened her merriment. Right, the book.. time to shatter that illusion.

_'Jim, I lost le Fay's spellbook on the way back to my house. I think I was ambushed, but I really don't remember what happened.. it was just. Poof. Gone.'_

She couldn't help a small bite of her lip in adoration when his first response to that was _: 'Were you hurt?'_

_'No. I still know the incantation, so we're fine in that regard. I'm just frustrated at myself for letting it out of my possession and I don't even remember how it happened. For some reason all I can think about is Enrique when I think back to that moment, and..'_

She left it at that. Jim knew already how much the subject distressed her, evident by his next text message _. 'The main thing is you're not hurt, Claire. We can worry about whose got their paws on le Fay's spellbook after we deal with the immediate threat of Strickler and Angor Rot. The book's never caused us trouble in the past before, so hopefully it shouldn't be doing so now, especially if Strickler's the only one that can translate it. Short of Rot or le Fay herself.'_

Snuggling down in her covers, she let her head rest on the pillow and brought the phone up to her face, letting her thumb lazily type out the text. Her tiredness was catching up to her, devouring the excitement of talking to Jim, the butterflies long since settled away and the feeling of tense anticipation passing. _'I hope you're right about that, Jim. Goodnight.'_

_'Nighty-night.'_

 

It was a good thing Claire hadn't used the Shadowstaff to teleport to Jim's house early next morning, because when she biked to it, she noticed Dr. Lake's car in the driveway. She hesitated to approach for a moment: it was a weekday, and only the school had closed due to the suspicious hazard from the science lab. The hospital should be running: no doubt on overtime given the amount of concerned parents. She ground the bike to a halt, slipping off the seat and pushing it the rest of the way, neatly placing it against the wall by the front door, next to Tobias' bike, along with her helmet and gloves. A sheepish Jim was the one to answer the door. His look confirmed he'd spent the morning explaining and showing Barbara about the troll world.

Claire withheld her cringe as she gingerly stepped inside, rising to the tips of her toes to look past Jim's shoulder and see his mother sitting ramrod straight on the sofa, nursing a cup of tea and looking nonplussed. She'd seen all manner of freak accidents within a hospital to harden her gut to the gruesome, yet when faced with the reality of the other world: she'd reacted just how expected. Confusion, disbelief. A touch of anger: yet fear of the unknown, and ultimately.. morbid curiosity overshadowed by the pain of grief.

She could also hear sounds of clattering and shuffling in the kitchen. No doubt Toby was helping himself to whatever Jim had cooked for breakfast in the morning.

“I told her about Strickler shortly after introducing Draal.” she heard Jim's voice just above her ear as she further craned her neck to see the awkward, hulking troll lumbering in the room as well. No doubt he'd been all bark and display when they met first, but now he seemed uncertain. Statue-like. Claire slipped out of her shoes and hung her bag on the end of the stairway, whispering;

“Did she take it well?”

Jim's face scrunched up. “What do you think?”

Claire coughed politely to avoid answering, stepping into the living room once invited and offered a tentative smile towards Jim's mother, joining her on the sofa. She mimicked her own mother, Maria, perfectly, the way she sat facing towards her, giving undivided attention, with her hand ghosting her shoulder to grab her attention and snap her out of whatever stupor she was in before they settled neatly on her knees. “Hi, Dr. Lake. Are you alright.. ?”

Barbara blinked a few times, before turning her head and gaze away from her tea towards the teen girl, a strained smile touching her lips as she thought of a diplomatic way of putting her feelings without letting on how much of an effect the reveal really had on her. “Hm? O-oh, yes, quite alright, Claire. I – did you know about.. all of this?” She gestured with her eyes, glancing at Draal before back to the woman, whom failed in suppressing her grimace this time. That was more than enough of an answer for Barbara, who nodded discreetly, though disappointed. She would have liked her son to have told her first, not to find out as a last desperation attempt to stop the 'bad trolls' as he put it.

And Strickler. She was so conflicted about what she had learned. A part of her wanted to take Jim's words for a grain of salt, as it was not the first time he'd felt compelled to chase off anyone that she'd shown an interest in. Although he didn't care about his real father, she knew deep down there was a part of him that yearned for a proper father figure just as much as his need to protect the sole parent worth looking after. Something told her he might've seen that in Walter.. until mysteriously the boy began purposefully failing his History class. She should've suspected something then..

But she was deeply hurt. There was no way around that simple fact. She wasn't even sure if she ever wanted to see him again: if not because of the lies he told her, but because of the danger he put on her baby boy.

“Mum?” Speaking of, said son was trying to get her attention. Her gaze rose up, equal parts mystifying, upset and a controlled calm mastered only through the heartache she's already dealt with.

“Jim,” she said, finding no more warmth in her tea now that it went cold and undrunk. Her tone was surprisingly neutral, a similar cadence of sympathy yet clinical fact when she had to deliver devastating news in the hospital. “I'd like to say that I'm not mad at you for withholding this from me. I know you were just trying to protect me..”

The smile of relief on Jim's face was short lived when she continued: “-- But it's not your job to protect me. **I'm** your mother. I should be the one keeping you from harms way from .. from all the bad in the world. I am disappointed you didn't tell me.. but – Jim, what if something happened? What if you were,” her eyes cloud as tears threatened to well up. “Were – killed, I mean, look at the size of these.. what did you call them? Trolls!”

Barbara pointed at Draal, whom straightened up his slouch, eyes darting uncertainly around the room. He seemed to catch on to her meaning and tried to make him seem smaller than he was. He succeeded only in knocking a family photograph down from it's perch. Barbara continued, confidence and fear mounting in her voice as she did.

“And it's your job to protect THEM? You're sixteen – you're still in school. The only thing you should ever have to worry about at that age is.. is, exams and school drama, not burdening the safety of an entire race.”

Jim didn't say anything, though Claire knew by studying his face that it was not because he lacked something to say. She could tell about the way emotion played in his great, blue eyes. He withheld his piece as he no doubt suspected he deserved his mother's scorn. His gaze landed to his socked feet, shifting weight every now and then in shuffled awkwardness, dumbly remaining silent, as he could tell his mother wasn't finished.

She surprised him when she sighed.

“This.. is not the time to have this conversation. Don't think I've let you off, James Lake Junior.” she warned sternly. “But right now I'm beyond enraged that the man that claims to lo--”

At the resounding cringes and looks of disgust, she verbally swerved, rolling her eyes momentarily at teenagers revolting the idea that adults (specifically their parents) did adult things.“ – Like me has also gone behind my back to try and hurt my son, as well as bind me to him without consent. What was this plan that you had in mind..?”

Jim seemed rather awe-struck at his mother's own determination, which amused Claire. After all, his noble heart and prideful courage did not come from his father if what he'd said of him was true, and both parent and child were as stubborn as a royal guard.

Tobias joined them a moment later having heard the tail end of the conversation, carrying a chocolate biscuit he'd nicked from the plateful in the kitchen. Looking between mother and son, Claire pondered if Angor would call them an Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. She had to bite her bottom lip to avoid a grin.

Now this was something Draal could join in, as he eagerly leaned forward, rich voice like a small earthquake in the room when he announced; “We lure him into the house and rip him limb from limb.” All eyes turned to him. “ – What? Nothing ever beats a good limb-ripping. It's a staple of every plan and – no, I haven't forgotten about the bond. I mean after it's broken.”

“Well, you got about one percent of the plan right.” Jim tartly stated. “We are going to lure him into the house, but we are not going to cut a leg off or something. We're going to use a stasis trap to contain him, Claire will perform the incantation to break the bond, I steal the Inferna Copula from his finger, and leave him at the mercy of the Troll council. Draal and I will escort him into Trollmarket – the passage you made in the basement, Draal.”

It seemed like a simple plan overall, though Claire scrutinized it nonetheless. It would work in theory, but it seemed like a great underestimation of Strickler. Would he really fall for such a thing? Even under the pretence of meeting up with Barbara – would he not suspect? Plus there was still Angor, so she voiced her concerns.

“What about Angor Rot, though? I mean, let's say Strickler's guard is at it's lowest and he doesn't think to inform Angor where he's going for the night, or doesn't suspect a trap. Are you still going to give the ring to him?”

That was when Tobias intercepted. “You said you'd only give him the ring if he removed the bond, and since we've already figured out how to do that, you don't have to give his ring back. So Jim and I decided we should keep it for ourselves. If we wear the ring, we eliminate Angor as a threat. We can send him to go live in wherever he originated from, and he doesn't have to worry about killing anyone anymore.”

Claire was doubtful. “I think the whole point is that he wanted to be free, Tobes. So that nobody can control him. I should give him the ring like he asked of me, or destroy it.”

She quickly added as she could see suspicion grow on his chubby face again. “I'm just playing devil's advocate, plus it's the right thing to do. Angor Rot may be a bad troll, but most of it is because of other people forcing him to do what they want. I can't claim I know his entire history, just that I should fulfill our part of the bargain.”

“Is giving you a bunch of bruises and tormenting you part of that bargain?” snipped Tobias, much to the raised concern of Barbara and flash of protectiveness from Jim. The teen girl scowled.

“Just because he isn't **nice** like Blinky doesn't make him **evil**. Besides, I've suffered much worse doing gymnastics and from NotEnrique's pretend temper tantrums.”

“Right, right,” he crowed, continuing in a tone that couldn't signal any more disbelief even if he tried. “He's just **misunderstood**.”

Barbara could see the tension between them and cleared her throat. Being the only (human) adult, the teens were quick to heed her word when she spoke. “Destroying the ring will benefit nobody and if you've already made a promise to give him the ring.. you should follow through with that. We are better than liars. And Claire's right, Toby – I know even less than all of you but from what it sounds.. I wouldn't want to be controlled against my will.”

The teens deliberated, but eventually Jim nodded, listening to his mother's wisdom. He prayed that they didn't even run into Angor Rot during their plan. Clasping his hands, he released them shortly to gesture around the house.

“Alright, let's get this place revamped. Operation: Contain the Strickler is a go.” A pause. "I told you it was a dumb nickname, Toby."

He laughed.


	10. Arthurian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan set in motion by the Trollhunters gang comes to a crescendo, and Claire faces a fate worse than death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter. It's been a wild ride. Stay tuned for the bonus chapter for additional content as well! But you can consider this story complete. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as I have writing it. I admit I had to finish this the moment I released the Ch. 9, because I felt that one was just set up and no pay off. Here is that pay off. It's also the longest, and I was tempted to split it into 2 chapters but decided against it.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who have read, reviewed, kudos'd, bookmarked and all the like!
> 
> There is some violence and minor swearing in this chapter.

By the time it was mid afternoon, they'd acquired the necessary stones to create the stasis trap. There was much debate as to where it would be placed that would incur the least suspicion in Strickler. Tobias suggested the front door, on the account of ' _he probably thought we were smarter than that._ ', which did hold some credence as to combat the changeling's infallible wit. Instead of matching his intelligence in such a game, subverting it and using his own logic against him stood a better chance. Claire still held her doubts that the stasis trap would even work, but nevertheless suggested the kitchen, or the dining room. Unfortunately, there really wasn't much room for her to do a full circle around Strickler without drawing suspicion from any moved furniture, which was a required part of the chant, so that idea was struck down.

Eventually Barbara quietly pitched in, with the master bedroom, quickly explaining herself as Jim's disgust was evidently rising. “ – I think it's better to make him believe that you guys aren't here.. Draal can return to the basement, and you three can hide until Strickler's trapped in this.. um, stasis.. chamber. Plus, the room is big enough for Claire to walk around in like is needed.”

“Fine, but I'm hiding in the room and if he tries anything dirty I'm going to kick him in the gronk-nuks.” the teen boy surlily stated. There was a slated door closet that he could use to hide out in. It would be difficult for anyone to see past through the slits of the wooden bars, so his concealment wouldn't be endangered. Barbara's lips twisted into a thin line, but conceded to allow her son that. If only it would put his mind at ease that, lying or not, Strickler _**was**_ a gentleman.

“Claire and I will stakeout in Jim's room.” said Tobias. “We'll keep the lights off and stay very quiet so he doesn't think anyone's here.”

After the Trollhunters gang chatted some more regarding their plan, they moved to the master bedroom to set up the trap. The stones were aligned perfectly to how Jim remembered Angor Rot had laid them, with a brief bit of alarm when his arm was through the epicentre of the stones. Relief, then confusion washed over him when he noticed they were inert and inactive. He called for Claire to have a look at them.

She knelt beside him, brows knit in concentration as she tweaked the stones of the trap, but no matter what, it would not activate. Before panic of having to revamp the plan settled in, she rose. “Let me fetch the Shadowstaff, I have an idea.”

A brief trip downstairs to her bag and back again, she did not question that the staff activated when magic, even if spent, was present. Pursing her lips, she vowed to search Blinky's library about dark artefacts and their quirks once the threat of the present was dealt with. Twirling it around in one hand, she pressed the tip of prongs against the stones and muttered an incantation she'd stumbled across in le Fay's spellbook, as the one to break a magical binding was not the only spell that had been translated. Her knowledge of Welsh was limited to Vendal's lesson, but learning how it was supposed to sound and flow helped her to cast it.

She ignored the warm sensation at the side of her face, like a migraine that threatened to bloom, only to dissipate after she pulled the staff back. Jim tested the trap again, lighting up when his arm was caught in the yellow beams of bars. Claire grinned, happy that she was successful, and yanked Jim free of the trap, recharging it once more. During this set up, Barbara had took the liberty of calling Strickler and inviting him over, something he had unabashedly accepted. With everything in place, all they had to do now, is wait.

Time seemed to drag on a lot longer now that the anticipation of their plan settled in their minds. Jim was perhaps the most anxious, even if all he had to do was remain quiet. He paced amusedly, in tune to the clattering of plates and saucepans in the kitchen as his mother went over the recipe he'd printed out for her. When following his instructions, she could make something quite decent: and most of all, edible. Claire and Tobias sat in their friend's room, with the latter laying on Jim's bed, and the former scouting outside for signs of Strickler.

“Anything yet?” came her friend's hopeful voice, only for a sigh to sound when she shook her head. She was morbidly thankful that everyone seemed to be nervous, though for Claire it was more about Angor Rot. They were banking on the hope that the unwilling servant was not compelled to assist the ringbearer when he was in danger: she wished one of the first things she did do when Rot initially set her to the task was research the Inferna Copula as well as the staff. There was more to it than met the eye. How much control did it truly have over Rot? Was she right in assuming he truly had been a begrudging participant to every command – or had he enjoyed the wanton slaughter the bearers asked him to commit?

Everyone had been against the assassin since he'd been a threat and perhaps she should heed that. There was a reason – a history, as to why NotEnrique had been so alarmed and subsequently appalled at her choices, or the grimness in how Blinky spoke of him. The fear hidden behind the affronted ire that Vendal put up..

Her musings were cut short as a sight of a familiar car was driving down the opposite street, soon to round to Jim's house. She pushed back away from the window and headed to the landing, calling down.

“He's here.”

 

As much as he taunted the young Atlas about his dates with his mother, the longer the charade continued: the more Strickler grew to dread them. By no fault of Barbara, of course – it was the fact he **did** enjoy them so much and her company that it presented an unfortunate complication to his plans. He had never, in all his centuries of living, met a woman quite like her. He thought it perfect, initially. He could watch over the Trollhunter in his own way, both for Barbara and for the Janus Order. Yet.. it was foolish to think he could fulfil two duties, of which they were polar opposites of. Angor Rot's words still taunted him in the back of his mind. When the deed had to be done, Barbara would fall out of love with him.

He glared at his reflection into the rear-view mirror, watching the same, intense green eyes stare back at him judgementally. It was nothing more than a guilty pleasure to accept her invitation. He'd already secured all he needed – and the rest was a luxury he spoilt himself with. His analytical mind: the one that had plotted the course of the Order for hundreds of years, was nothing short of scornful. _You don't desire her_ , he admonished, no matter how much he tried to quell his feelings, it never worked. _You want normalcy._

Parking his car and stepping out, he smoothed down the neat, black turtleneck sweater, opting out of his blazer. Tidying his slicked hair, he moved to the back of the car to retrieve a bottle of vintage red wine, wrapped safely in it's cushioned paper bag, before stepping up towards the Lake residence. He tucked the wine in the crook of his arm as he rung the doorbell – the sounds of shuffling movement within.

He half expected to see the dour face of Jim when the door began to open, until a small smile warped his lips remembering that Barbara had said he'd gone to hang out with Tobias and Claire. No doubt the true nature of such a spontaneous visit was to discuss Troll-related matters. When the door was fully open, his eyes creased in subconscious adoration, gazing at the blue-eyed woman. She was a vision of beauty in his mind: soft, brown hair that was pinned back into a braid rather than her usual messy bun. She was out of her hospital scrubs as well, which was rare given how much the hospital demanded of her, in a fitting cherry red cardigan and complimenting cream dress.

Minerva herself could not hold a candle to her, he thinks, sweeping down to catch one of her hands in his and lift it just high enough to grace her knuckles with a chaste kiss. “Barbara,” he murmured once he raised, still holding on to her hand. “You look.. enchanting.”

“Thank you,” she smiled warmly. It helped in her act that regardless of the reveal, her thoughts and feelings were still present. She knew Jim wouldn't understand quite yet: but it was not like a tap that could be switched on and off. Her gaze drifted to the covered wine, and she slipped her hand out of his reluctantly to gesture towards it. “May I?”

“Of course,” he exchanged the package to her as he followed her, though stopped as she went through into the kitchen, his tendency to ramble cropping up as he made small talk; “It's a bottle of Chateau Lafite, authenticated at 2009. I find that the rich, smooth taste is quite enjoyable when savoured and drank slowly.”

He did not mention that it was in fact authenticated in 1865, given to him as a gift from an old human friend that had passed away, who always bemused that Strickler never seemed to age and he looked just as sprightly as he did when they met. The bottle – and plenty like them with other gifts over the years – had always been a dark cloud of a reminder to him. At least this way, he could be rid of it and enjoy something good, even if momentarily. Strickler moved to the living room, sinking into the couch. It was far more comfortable than the wooden dining chairs.

He heard the pop of the cork and her mutter something about the cork's age. He suppressed a smile at her keenness, but indubitably, she did not question. Barbara returned into the living room with the two glasses of wine carried expertly in one hand, with the wine bottle in a bucket of ice in the other. She set it down at the foot of the couch before joining beside him. Offering him his drink, they clinked the glasses before taking a sip.

“It's good.” admitted Barbara when she swallowed, their knees nearly bumping into eachother with how she twisted to sit partially facing Strickler. “I didn't realise a history professor's salary – or a principals for that matter – allowed you to afford such expensive luxuries.”

He laughed, body slowly relaxing in her presence as his indomitable guard began to drop just a touch in her presence. “I admit, it may not be lucrative, as we cannot all be highly accomplished surgeons --”

“That's not what I meant!” she was quick to intercept, cheeks flushed at his joking implication, though he silenced her with a cheeky pat of her knee, his smile broad.

“-- Rather that you would surprised about the things you don't know regarding me. I didn't purchase the wine in any case, it was.. a gift, from a departed friend.” The truth, what a surprise. It almost sounded alien to him when he was being honest. She looked sympathetic to his loss, though her gaze drifted down to his stilled hand. It stalled, before he had the sense to draw it away from her knee to nurse the glass of wine instead.

“Well..” she started slowly, turning to face him completely, setting her glass aside to the couch-side table and clasping her hands over Strickler's free one. His thumb caressed over her knuckles instinctively, before he followed her lead in placing his glass away so that he could hold both of her hands equally. He could feel his heart quicken just a beat, mind swift to scorn, though it was blocked out by the sound of her voice. Barbara continued. “.. You know so much about me, and my son, naturally.. I think I'd really like to get to know you, Walt. Who you **really** are.”

It'd hurt he'd have to give the same lies as he'd had before, but for a moment, being able to be in this position with her, he didn't mind.

 

“God, what's taking so long!” Tobias' harsh whisper cut through the silence, shushed immediately by a glaring Claire. He made some vague gesture to symbolise his displeasure, rolling on the bed to face her, propped up by his elbow. She was seated at Jim's desk, overlooking out of the window, swivelling slightly left and right in bored idleness as they waited for Barbara to finish her part of the plan. The quiet only lasted a grand total of two minutes before Toby spoke again. “We should just knock him out and cast the spell when they're both unconscious!”

“The second Strickler suspects something, he'll summon Angor Rot,” she finally hissed, swerving to face Tobias. “And I don't know about you, but I can hardly have the concentration to cast a spell with him trying to murder Jim!”

“Ah, so you admit he's a murderer?”

She threw her hands up in indignation, though it was neither the time nor the place to butt heads with Tobias about his suspicions. Apparently it was wishful thinking to have thought his doubts had been eased back in Trollmarket. Maybe he just pretended they had in front of Jim. They both partook in some strange charade of wild gestures and rabid looks to convey a conversation until Tobias shot her a squinted glare and rolled to face the wall. Her face scrunched up and the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him was strong, but she resisted, gaze turning to look outside.

She froze in the seat.

Angor Rot was sitting on one of the roof tops. The winter evening made it far more darker than it should have, so he had no issue of the non existent sunlight. He was like a stony grotesque perched on the edge of a foreboding chapel, or adorned on the top of a steeple, if that church-house was stationed in a suburb. Dispite the grim visage, he looked casual, innocently carving away at another effigy with the dagger laced with Creeper's Sun.

Claire blinked and rubbed her eyes. He was gone. Perhaps all the stress of the past week had accumulated into hallucinations, which wouldn't surprise her. Maybe the staff's dark energies were finally infecting her as everyone seemed to believe, though it remained inactive in her bag. The bed creaked beside her and she could feel Tobias' eyes boring into her.

His glare dropped into something of true concern when she turned her head, white as a ghost. “Oh no,” he muttered under his breath. “Let me guess, you spotted Angor Rot outside, likely watching this house because Strickler had the foresight to alert him that he was going on a date with Dr. L and they or at least Angor knew that we had the spellbook at some point and was likely going to plan for something like this in the coming days?”

Claire slowly nodded, amazed that when Tobias wanted to be, he could be quite critically accurate.

“Well, shi --” he was quickly silenced by Claire pouncing out of the seat to clamp her hand over his mouth once the sound of muffled steps began ascending up. Her grip tightened much to Tobias' discomfort as two sets of footfalls moved across the landing to the master bedroom. She ignored Toby trying to claw at her hand until he yanked her wrist downwards to breathe, though the loud inhale made both of them tense up like they'd stepped on a mine.

The sound of a door opening was heard, as well as it whining on it's hinges when it was pushed back, but not entirely closed. Claire released a sigh she didn't know she was holding, pulling away from Toby as the most crucial part was put into place. Seconds felt like minutes. Minutes felt like hours, until finally they heard Jim's voice.

“Claire, Toby? Come say hi to Mr. Strickler.”

They exchanged a look, with Claire taking a moment longer to stare out of the window, hoping she really had just imagined Angor Rot's presence on the rooftops. She grabbed her staff and the parchment with the incantation, trekking across the landing towards the master bedroom. The glow of the yellow stasis stones were unmistakable, and when they pushed the door open fully, they could see a chuffed, armoured Jim circling a forlorn, trapped Strickler, whose face was etched in that split second realization of betrayal. Barbara looked everywhere but at the obvious sight in front of her.

“The plan totally worked.” the teen boy beamed, resting the sword of Daylight over his shoulders, the thing seemingly weightless to him after so many weeks of training with Draal. He'd strengthened considerably from the scared fifteen year old boy before he stumbled across the amulet. Claire was sure that Barbara would be proud – after the initial shock of everything had truly lessened. Jim looked to his friend expectantly, to which she nodded, clearing her throat.

“You should, uh, hurry up, in case you know what decides to enter you know where,” cryptically Tobias said to Claire's shaking head and directed glare, as well as Jim's confusion, but stepped up to centre stage nonetheless. She could see Strickler's eyes shift ever so slightly, tracking her movements, but he was completely paralysed. Even she felt a little pity for him. She rose the staff – startled to find it had already unfurled from it's hilt and was ready to use, the wood still bleach-white. It had sensed her intention and acted accordingly: as a conduit for magic in the form of a focus.

Closing her eyes, she tried to blot out the presence of the other teens, that the only people in the room was she, the caster and the two cursed. Exhaling very slowly, she lowered the staff to have the prongs pointed at Strickler, her voice starting out as a low hum, before it picked up to enunciate the first word of the song-speak.

 

“ _Torrwch nhw allan o'r llwch sych hwn.  
Torrwch y cadwyni hyn oddi arnyn nhw.”_

 

She repeated this incantation several times as her feet seemed to move on their own accord, circling around the stasis trap, stopping only to loop around Barbara as well, the pointed staff unwavering. Her eyes seemed unfocused as the foreign power flowed from her lips, down her gullet, through her arm and to the staff. It seemed to hum with an energy she hadn't felt before. No longer did it sap and drain her, but rather invigorate. The side of her face felt warm again, like when she had re-energized the stones of the trap, and had she not been so invested and trance-like in the spell casting, she might've noticed the petrified stares of her peers.

Claire had never felt so alive. It was like an energy that had always been present though locked away suddenly sprang forth inside of her. It was quite like the first time she used the Shadowstaff, just without it feeding from her. It was directing her energy into the spell, for she was sure if she didn't have the staff, she might have exploded with how much her insides were like a buzz of active bees.

She finished the tenth repetition of the incantation – punctuated by a sharp gasp from Barbara as the butt of the staff slammed down. This time it did not fill the room with darkness, rather a noise of finality. Snapping out of her state, Claire felt her muscles give way and she leaned heavily on the bark for support, stumbling a little. She blinked a few times to regain a clearer vision, looking back at the frozen faces of terror on their faces.

“.. What?” she asked, brows furrowing. Tobias had the decency to shakily raise a finger and point repeatedly at her face. Her head turned to catch sight of herself in the mirror – eyes bugging out as the sigil of Angor Rot was on full display, burning with such intensity she hadn't even noticed during the mantra. She touched it and wince. It hurt like she'd been scalded and stung sharply. Why did it appear.. ?

“N-Nevermind that.. for now..” Jim breathed, though he look quite beside himself. His priority was torn between mother and crush, though the former won out by a mile once he stepped to her. “Mum, do you feel any.. different..?”

“I feel like a tight jacket I've been wearing has suddenly been unzipped.” she explained in the best way possible. Jim gave an experimental little push against Barbara after she nodded her consent, and watched that such an action did not repeat upon Strickler. He wasn't entirely convinced, which Barbara saw.

“Look,” she said, pinching her skin on the back of her hand with a quiet 'ouch'. Strickler, although trapped, would have been able to make some noise. He was silent. The bond had been broken.

“Nice work, Claire.” he praised, turning back to face her and stopping once again at the sight of the sigil. She looked to be in mild pain. He approached her side and wrapped her up into a hug, regardless of the company present, tightly drawing her inward. He felt her slump against him gratefully whilst his mind suddenly reeled at the fact that he had managed to hug Claire without an inch of awkwardness.

She pulled away, gaze drifting back to their unwilling house guest. “So.. how exactly are we going to get the ring off from him?”

“I thought of that.” cheerily Jim stated. For a moment she thought he actually had, until his plan consisted of stepping back and charging at Strickler with enough strength and speed to knock him out of the trap without catching himself in it. They both tumbled to the ground with a loud thud to the chorus of shocked gasps. They rolled, with Strickler at a disadvantage being in his human guise against the armoured champion of Merlin. Jim managed to land on top and didn't think twice before hitting a particularly vicious right hook into the changeling's cheek – something Jim had wanted to do for **months**.

“Toby, get Dr. L out of here!” Claire ordered swiftly and for once, Toby did not question or snark her judgement, stepping around the brawling two to grab at Barbara's hand and tug her out, no matter how much she struggled and tried to raise her voice to stop the two from fighting. The teen girl ducked under the flying elbow of Jim as he struggled with Strickler on the floor, shutting the master bedroom door and sliding a chair to block any attempts for Barbara to enter the fray.

Now that they wouldn't have an audience, Strickler's eyes flashed a dangerous yellow and red, backhanding Jim across the jaw to get him to relent, allowing him to shove him away and transform into his troll form. They both scrambled to stand, iron quills jutting out the cracks in between his fingers as he snarled and spat in fuming anger.

“You stupid boy!” he cursed. “Why could you never see that I was just trying to help you – help us ALL!”

“By wanting to kill me?!”

“You will doom us all,” he growled, the changeling and Trollhunter circling in the pitiful space they had in the bedroom. “Giving you a swift death at the hands of either myself or by Creeper's Sun is better than what Gunmar will give you when you partake in your suicide mission! But no, you let your childish, pathetic immaturity rule your reason. I will not have this world stained with the death of millions when Gunmar's army storms through because of your cack-handed attempt of heroism!”

His red, furious eyes shifted to Claire, quills pointed towards her. The sword of Daylight manifested into Jim's hands as he stood between her and Stricklander, expression conflicted as he clearly was considering the troll's words, despite himself. The changeling continued without missing a beat.

“You have already sealed yourself for a fate worse than death, chit. You do not realise the power you meddle with, the attention you have. I tried to protect you. I offered you a place where your talents would not be abused by forces beyond your comprehension, or squandered by that deluded elder of Trollmarket.” His lip curled to show his upper, smaller tusks. “How foolish I was to believe you were smart.”

Claire bristled, mouth opening to retort hotly when Jim cut in for her; “I've had enough talk. It's time to end this, Strickler!”

Jim rushed forward, his blade connecting with the swipe of Stricklander's quills as they duelled. He was evenly matched, blow for blow, though the boy's pent up anger and frustration that had built for months was put forth behind every swing, even overpowering the changeling at times enough for Jim to get in a slash of the blade. It nicked across his arm, to which he howled as pure daylight pierced his stone flesh. Had it been any deeper, he knew it would've cauterized immediately and the arm would be lost.

He ducked under another slash, launching the handful of quills towards him. Jim was forced to back up and go on the defensive, eyes squinting in pain as one managed to slice his cheek. Stricklander tugged out more of the knives from his collar, not allowing Jim any time to recover his footing. He struck out, managing another glancing blow against Jim's sloppy parry, and he had to bite his tongue from barking out for him to correct his duelling stance. Ever the teacher.

“Jim – the ring!” Claire called. It would be too risky to join the fray, not without armour like him. She stayed far back in the room, watching the battle with rapt, heightened investment – in any case, the last thing she wanted was the ring to get accidentally destroyed within the fight.

Jim made some noise that vaguely meant he'd heard her. He dived under Stricklander's strike as he roughly ploughed his shoulder into the troll's gut. The touch of armour on his skin hurt enough, being infused with daylight, though thankfully was not as deadly as the blade itself. They were both sent careening to the floor again as he wrestled to acquire the ring.

Neither of them heard the shatter of a window outside of the bedroom, although Claire did. She looked up in alarm, then exhaled a sharp gasp when she noticed that the sigil of Angor Rot was still burning as fiercely as ever. No doubt he'd finally deigned to grace them with his presence. She carefully stepped around the pair to face the door, staff in hand – the bark starting to darken like spilt ink as she readied herself to defend her friend.

“You're.. too.. late.. !” the changeling puffed in between each attempt to shove Jim off of him, managing to raise his knee into the boy's armoured ribs. It wasn't painful, but it did knock the wind out of him enough for him to wrap his hands around the teen's throat tightly, one drawing back for his quills. He did want his death to be as swift as possible. Jim struggled and the sound of his choking breaths drew Claire to action.

Handling the staff like a bat, she swung it violently against Stricklander's head. It connected with a thunk, his grip loosening enough for Jim to kick him off and back away. By the time they both could orientate themselves, Claire was sent stumbling forward by the door practically being ripped by it's hinges by the ancient assassin. He had been called by the ring to it's bearer's defence. He surveyed the scene, though his sight was blocked when the teen girl stood between him and the duel.

“I see you've been quite busy.” he mused, noting her lit sigil. She readjusted her grip on her staff and for a moment, it felt like nothing was there but them. “Being deceitful.. learning and casting spells from le Fay's spellbook – dabbling in such, **dark** magic, little hunter. Tell me, did you enjoy the thrill of the hunt? Capturing your half-breed, performing your incantation..”

Her reflexes had long since improved since the first time he'd ever visited her. The drawing of his dagger was swift, but her parry was quicker. Poisoned or not, the ancient stone blade could never break through the raw magic that surrounded Skathe-Hrün. She hissed through clenched teeth as she, for now, managed to keep up with his strikes. “ – Enough, Angor. Get to the point.”

He laughed, even as the prongs of the staff caught his wrist at a painful angle and drove his weapon hand away. His head dipped down, to bring them a touch bit closer in eye level as he said; “Do you really think after all this is over, you will be accepted as their friend? The other fleshbag considers you duplicitous. Your precious Orion will fold to his whispers and you will be left with nothing. Nobody.”

A pause – the sounds of Stricklander's and Jim's battle nothing more than a backdrop to their conversation. The assassin's face twisted into a gruesome smile, as he added; “Except me.”

He expected many things, but the powerful kick in the square of his chest, followed by the thrust of the staff into his gut was not one of them. Her response was like the crack of a whip; tone vitriolic. “You may call me Artemis, but unlike her I will not let you manipulate me into killing Orion.” Angor was quick to recover, blade clashing against staff as a battle of power waged. Claire leaned forward, unflinching, voice lowering to a harsh whisper. “I don't know what I ever saw in you. I  _**never** _ want to see you again after your free.”

Claire did not have any time to consider the fact that such a threat did not even anger the troll when Jim's yells pierced through the veil. Her head turned just enough to catch sight of him holding the ring up high, face looking rather battered with scars and scratch marks alike. Stricklander did not look any better. Angor zoned in on it, no longer feeling the compulsion of it's magic without a bearer. He used the distraction to overpower Claire and shove her unceremoniously aside, but she had learnt from last time. She used the staff to skid to a halt instead of connecting to the wall.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion when she witnessed Angor Rot advance upon a worn Jim. He made a beeline the ring – the weariness getting to the champion enough that when he scrambled back, he dropped the cursed object. Claire took a chance to create a small portal for the ring to fall into – heart pounding in her ears, blocking all sound but the heavy drum – and land in her open-palmed hand. Angor changed his course back to her, surging forward like he was about to tackle her or ram his horns to her skull, had she not created a second portal behind her. He charged her into it and the last thing she heard was Jim's frantic call before the void embraced her.

 

Stifled silence enveloped her like a familiar friend unlike the first time. The darkness was comforting, eyes long since adjusted to the absolute nothingness of absent colour. She did not drown, or flounder in desperation. She drifted, peaceful, floating out in the black sea of the black void. She felt lighter – lighter than a feather. She knew her heart was still racing for the beats still thumped in her eardrum, to a deafened tune. Tightly in her fist was the Inferna Copula, searing in her palm. Her sigil flared up the same.

She tried to think herself like bedrock, sediment sinking at sea so she could get away from Angor Rot. It was only when she let go of the staff to fumble with the ring did she begin to plummet slowly. She tried to slip it over her ring finger to quell Rot, but he orientated himself a lot faster in the monochrome muteness than she had. His hand crushingly grabbed hers, forcing her to yelp wordlessly as the ring continued to burn in her palm. She kicked, wiggled and tried to free herself, to no avail. Angor Rot grabbed the staff – and like a torpedo they shot upwards out of the dark.. and into real water.

A strangled gasp of air left her as the cold water bit into her flesh. Her legs kicked out rapidly, causing a splash as she tried to gain her bearings. The shore was not far from where they emerged, which is where she was being dragged towards. She further kicked, but Angor's grip was like a vice. He was an excellent swimmer, for living stone, and once they were on land, he hauled her ahead. The futility of the situation began to dawn on Claire, and once it had, she slumped like horrified dead weight.

Angor was no more kind now than he was back in Arcadia. He tossed her in front, though Claire braced her fall and rolled a little bit on the hard rock. She was soaked, shivering as every brush of the wind seemed intent to freeze her blood and bone. She angrily glared at the troll under her sopping locks of wet hair. He was making no move for the ring now. Why?

“Where have you taken me?” she spat, shakily standing up, trying to look at least confident, no matter how miserable and pitiful she actually did look. Claire winced as she peeled the ring very slowly from her palm, leaving a very sore, ring-shaped mark to blister. Trembling hands tried to turn the ring to wear, but no matter what, it burned her as much as the sigil on her face did. Then, she remembered.

Assurance. It made sense. Angor Rot did not want her wearing the ring. The assurance was for  **himself** . Her mind could think of only one thing: Bastard.

She finally dropped the ring to nurse her injured hands, tears lining the rim of her eyes as a blazing glare flayed the smirking troll. He casually strolled up to her – unarmed, injured and freezing, she stood no chance – and knelt to retrieve his ring, inspecting it mockingly in front of her.

“Bulgaria.” He grasped her upper arm, forcing her to face the mouth of the cave as he stepped forward once more, not quite entering it. He stood at his full height, bellowing; “Morgan le Fay! I call you! I have done what you have asked. Skathe-Hrün has chosen her worthy to be your acolyte.”

There was a tense silence. Claire was stupefied, yet morbidly curious – and it was that curiosity that le Fay could sense. The touch of darkness the staff had imprinted into the girl, something the enchantress could mould. Nothing was seen of the Witch – but her presence was palpable. It was more crushing than the sensation of air pressure of the void, coupled with the overwhelming scent of dead roses. The teen thought she really might collapse or asphyxiate somehow, even when she saw a surprisingly human, soft hand reach out from the maw of the cave.

“Claire,” the voice crooned. Why did it sound like her mother? It had to be one of her tricks – she knew if there was anyone to trust even less than Rot, it was fae herself. “Such promise in a girl so young.. yes.. I can use her.. you have done well, my champion. She will become a strong witch; I can sense it in her.. Skathe-Hrün has never failed me in it's choice..”

The praise did not change Angor's disposition, nor did the enchantress' words settle well for Claire. He continued; “Now release me from my service, hag. You no longer need a hunter. Let me be  **free** .”

“On the contrary, my dear pet,” the eldritch queen purred. It was steel hidden underneath layers of silk; velvety. Comforting like a mother, yet venomous like a snake. Claire thought it was a pale imitation of motherhood, yet no matter how much she knew this, it still sounded warm and lulled a false security. “I need you more than ever. I cannot tend to her growth whilst I am still imprisoned here on this Hell-forsaken island. Therefore you must see to it that she blooms. You will care for her. Nurture her abilities – teach her as a master of the hunt.”

Another stipulation to the deal. He ignored Claire's quiet whimper as his grip tightened even more on her arm, threatening bruises as he glared scathingly into the dark abyss of the cave. She desperately wanted to speak, to interject, but found that she was voiceless, left to stew over her confusion and future. He growled; “Our deal– ”

“Do you wish for freedom?! Then you WILL do as I ask!” The wind howled at her ire, the sea crashed against the shore and Claire jumped in fright. It settled down instantly when the witch took note of the girl. Her voice calmed, too. “ – Release her. Let her approach.”

Angor let go and gave her an encouraging nudge forward, which almost sent her to the ground. Claire wanted to do the exact opposite of what she was asked, but felt compelled to approach, like a magical rope was drawing her towards the entrance of the cave. She stopped where the light ended, and the darkness began. The hand was close enough to touch her face, which it did. It felt deathly cold upon her torched, marked skin. This close, however, she could see a figure.

Claire didn't know if this phantom figure was even what Morgan le Fay truly looked like. She was tall, but with a kind, soft face – eyes like her mother, Maria – and long black hair that cascaded into a braid down her back. Something that Claire always wanted. She tried to keep it in her mind that she was likely making her see what she'd like, rather than the truth. It did not settle her much, especially when her mere existence felt like dark matter was pressing down on her soul.

“You must be scared. You must have questions.” she started. “Ask, my child.”

“I don't want Jim to die.” was the blunt, first thing that left Claire's chapped lips, throat hoarse. She elaborated with a pained tone. “He's.. the Trollhunter – and, I don't..”

“Shhh,” le Fay hushed, letting her hand rise to brush some wet locks of hair off from her forehead and tuck it behind Claire's ear. “If you agree to become my acolyte.. your Jim will not have to die. The terms are simple, my dear sweet girl.. you merely have to study under Angor Rot. Learn our magic.. and when the time comes, when you have matured – I will call upon you and you shall answer.”

She was so, so convincing. Every honeyed word was delivered with such sincerity, such love. Like what she asked of her was truly nothing much, and Claire helped so much. She didn't want to trust her, but her heart and mind was conflicted and torn. There was no escaping Angor Rot, either. She heard le Fay – they were bound, because of the sigil. She cursed him with every word she could think of under the sun in her mind. She hesitated, although le Fay was patient, for now.

“If I agree to be your acolyte.. what would I have to do? I don't want to hurt anyone..”

“Oh, no, no..” she cooed. “You will simply study the ways of our magic. All I ask of you, truly, is your time, my sweet. You need not hurt anyone you don't want to. Angor will protect you..”

There was so many questions that swarmed in her mind. Was Rot's actions truly because of Strickler's mishandling of the ring, and he had been working on the behest of le Fay the entire time? Why was she so important to the greatest enchantress known to rival Merlin himself? Why did she need her to be her acolyte – and were there others? What would she have to do when she was called?

None of these were voiced. They danced on the tip of the tongue, but refused to leave her lips. Claire's mind screamed at herself, but to no success. Morgan pulled back, the ghostly visage of her figure obscuring into the darkness as the hand remained outstretched.

“Do we have a deal, Claire..?”

She looked at the positives. If she agreed, it would take Angor Rot out as a threat against Jim. She would continue to grow her mastery with the Shadowstaff, which seemed to be much more linked with her than she'd like. She'd learn about magic, and practice it herself: as well as be able to be even more useful in a fight, to the upcoming threat of Gunmar when they all travelled to the Darklands. Although she vaguely remembered Jim did not have the stones, though no doubt he had beat Strickler up to hand them over.

Resigning to the fact that this was merely just an illusion of choice, and she really had no say in the matter, Claire slowly nodded and slotted her hand over le Fay's. “Y-Yeah..”

Her grip was stronger than Angor's and for a few tense moments, the wind picked up; the trees rustled violently. Claire didn't really feel anything different, other than the unsettling feeling of uneasiness down the back of her neck and in the pit of her stomach. Like a dreaded anticipation of a calamity to come. An innate sense that a natural disaster was to occur. The sigil continued to burn painfully, before it abruptly settled. It felt like a cold compress had finally treated it and her mind was put in a state of forced relaxation: aware that something wasn't quite right, yet still subject to whatever dark magic the fae had used.

“It is done.” murmured Morgan, squeezing her hand in what Claire imagined was to be reassuring. It pulled back into the darkness, leaving them with just her voice. It sounded like she was smirking over a victory unknown to the teen girl. A wave of her hand released the ring from Angor's possession and into her own, slotting over her finger. As much as the ancient troll despised it's control over him, the closest thing to free will was when she wore it. “Leave now and rest. My champion will visit you to begin your first lesson when it is appropriate.”

“I don't suppose there's another teacher, is there?” grumbled Claire under her breath, not intending for the witch to hear her. The sound of her laughter indicated that she had.

“Go,” she said, less of a suggestion and more of a command. At the teen's slowness, Angor collected her, creating a portal with ease from the Shadowstaff before handing the artefact back to her. It hummed pleasantly in her hands – quite a bit different to the insatiable hunger she felt before. Perhaps it was well fed from the despair and hopelessness she truly felt at the moment. She exchanged a fiery glare at Angor Rot, before hobbled through towards the portal. He did not follow her: which made sense when the biting cold of Bulgaria's Black Sea warped into the warm hearth of the Lake Residence.

 

Everywhere looked.. abandoned. The dishes hadn't been touched, the carpet looked like it hadn't been vacuum in a few days. There was no way she'd spent any longer than a few hours tops in Bulgaria – right? She tentatively stepped forward, clearing her hurting throat to voice;

“Um, hello..? Dr. Lake..?”

There was a rush of sound from upstairs as Barbara descended, eyes red and puffy, face tear-stained. Claire almost fell backwards when the mother drew her into a tight hug. She stiffened for a moment as her muscles protested, before tired arms wrapped around the grieving woman, rubbing her back in small circles to try and soothe her. No tears fell from her great blue eyes – she might've already cried her last.

“Oh, gods, Claire,” the older woman whispered. “You've been gone for an entire day.”

Grimacing, Claire pulled away from Barbara uncertainly, gazing worriedly to her upset face. She didn't realize that she cared so much about her, but the teen had a feeling it was more because of her disappearance that had her aggrieved. She decided to cut to the chase and ask.

“Dr. L, what's happened – what's wrong?”

The doctor paced as she naturally did, one hand covering the lower half of her face as she shook her head, light brown hair in utter disarray as she seemed not to have changed out of her scrubs since learning some sort of news. She pushed her fringe out of her face, though stubbornly it fell back, and fixed her glasses before finally mustering the courage to tell Claire in a cracked, broken voice.

“He's gone, Claire. My baby boy.”

Jim. Panic set in swiftly, mouth moving before she could even think; “Did Strickler – ?”

“No,” Minor relief, though confusion, nonetheless. Barbara weakly explained. “He – Jim.. said.. he had to go a-and he might not come back, he's. He's went to a dark land. Toby wanted to w-wait for you. Everyone told him not to go! But.. y-you were gone, and h-he.. thought this was the best time, so he didn't have to – say goodbye to you. He just.. left! He left!”

The staff clattered to the floor. Claire didn't know what to feel. What to say. Hurt? Yes, unimaginably. She couldn't begin to express herself. It was like she was on auto-pilot, slowly lowering to sit at the nearest chair, staring despondently at the ground. A mounting anger begin to bloom to rival her upset: he promised they would go as a team. He promised. She'd been right thinking that Jim would try something like this from his actions.

He was going to face Gunmar alone, and he never even said goodbye.

 


	11. Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commentary + Thoughts.

I'll preface this bonus chapter in saying that there is indeed material within the last chapter meant to hint at a sequel, set to follow Season 2, in preparation of Season 3, however I was only able to write this story in the first place by taking the hints and illusions of the Season 2 finale, with Claire potentially being under The Pale Lady's (whom I've taken to call Morgan le Fay, one of her names, to fit with the overall Welsh / Arthurian / Britonic theme) control. This story, however, maps it out that Claire is a much more aware participant, if still begrudging, as well as ideas I won't spoil in the possibility of writing a sequel.

I want to know if Season 3 touches more upon the magic between humans and trolls, as well as from well known magicians like Merlin and the Lady herself, before writing a sequel. Otherwise, I will have to go entirely based on my headcanon of how magic works. Of course the later sister series of Wizards might just retcon everything regardless, so it's either prepare to write a sequel in 2018, wait until after Season 3, or wait until after it's slated debut of 2019.

Waiting until Season 3 is released does give me an adequate break, as I've done nothing but almost non-stop write Moirai. I've loved every moment of it, but I have other obligations, other hobbies and so forth. My love for Trollhunters certainly isn't going to dissipate, that's for sure. In any case, the point is the likelihood of a sequel is **high** within the new year.

Now, for some chapter commentary.

**Chapter 1**

I think this is the most telling that the story did begin to have a different plot in mind. It was actually going to be darker and grittier, if you can imagine. It was going to be a one shot until I decided to flesh it out with a full story other than “Claire Dun Goofed Up.”

I toned back the amount of characteristic violence you'd expect from a character like Angor Rot as well as made Strickler a touch less sympathetic in later chapters – only for his true intentions to be revealed in the finale. Yes, that was also a point: I was going to have Strickler be a much, _**much**_ more sympathetic character, even fold to Jim's side as he does in canon, not a pseudo antagonist. His control over Angor would be a lot less constrictive and much less skillful to hint that maybe he didn't entirely have him under wraps, but I skirted past that thread.

There was a lot more reference to Strickler being more protective over Claire, as well as Toby and Jim as his students, but I cut that out when I decided on a multi-chaptered story so that his intentions would be gradually revealed. So instead, I made it seem like his only concern regarding Claire was the safety of the ungrateful NotEnrique. Something Strickler's mind _**would**_ force him to focus on rather than actually caring about his student.

 

**Chapter 2**

As mentioned in the note, because my knowledge only really extends to the British education system and it helped with the flow of my story to have the characters station in a nondescript area of the UK, that is probably the biggest change of all by making them all British or mixed. I don't think it really impacts canon too harshly, so the change was made. Another is the slang that's used, because of the writing excersise I use to help me write natural-sounding character dialogue, especially for teenage human characters, it was just more natural to include the colloquialisms that I use or have heard.

Not much to say about Angor's and Claire's interaction, only that it was written without the le Fay storyline in mind at the time. It worked out in the end as it played to Angor's subtle manipulations in trying to make her almost.. dependent on him, as she inevitably has to be once the deal has been made. He did have the intention of using her to kill Jim, or the very least break up the group and distress Jim enough to make the kill easy for him, but the idea that she needed to prove herself worthy of using the Shadowstaff was too good to pass up.

A hint of Strickler's protectiveness to his students is revealed there. He really did want to know if Rot had turned his attentions to her, because he vaguely was beginning to piece together that the assassin's intent was less to do with his mission and more for something else. Either le Fay or to escape the control by the Inferna Copula.

**Chapter 3.**

This is where I begun to think of Morgan le Fay's inclusion, if you can believe that. The subtle hints were starting to happen, as the only thing I left to hint at such a thing was Blinky mentioning that Angor Rot is a competent wizard, and the staff being dark magic in origin. Things we already knew from canon anyway.

Until he marked her with the Sigil of Angor Rot. Whilst the actual magic of what it does isn't explained past ' _being allowed to use the power of whom is marked'_ (Jim and the Daylight sword,) I've always been confused by Blinky's explanation that it was a fate 'worse than death.' – so I took the liberty of expanding it's use to making the marked targets act like, as NotEnrique says: giant bullseyes for Angor Rot, and to make them unable to wield the Inferna Copula if Claire thought of double-crossing him.

Surprisingly, it _does_ ensure that Claire is safe. It IS an assurance to her – because he's sealed that she would be the one linked to him, linked to le Fay. He may protect her from _absolute death,_ but he certainly isn't going to be nice and didn't want her to catch onto the greater picture of what was happening.

**Chapter 4.**

NotEnrique knows about Angor Rot and the Sigil because he's a changeling and once part of the Janus Order. Given they directly work for the Pale Lady, he would've heard about her favourite champion. Plus, there no doubt has been history recorded of Rot that is easily accessible. Of course he doesn't know the full story as he isn't as old or involved as Strickler was, and has since cut his ties with the Order.

I also don't know why I gave him a sort of expy to a Boston accent. It just fit how I went about his dialogue, hah. I think I adequately explained why Claire shouldered things herself within the story, so moving on.

**Chapter 5 & 6.**

Claire's plan of getting Strickler into her house seemed to be quite out of a left field and sort of pointless, but it did achieve three things: One, the Trollhunters learning about what was happening, and two: Strickler finding out that Angor marked her which angered him enough that it actually forced the changeling out of his human form. That is _quite_ a feat, given Strickler's control. Lastly, it allowed Strickler to try and drop a subtle hint that she had a place at his (and the Order's) side. She would be protected.

**Chapter 7, 8, 9.**

This is the first time Claire creates a portal and essentially sealing the deal that she was worthy enough to wield the staff and to become le Fay's acolyte.

Strickler's hinted here to actually be old enough (at least 1000+ years) to translate the book, and I headcanon that he was one of the first, if not THE first changeling to have been made: he's the only baby that we see in the Darklands that has no discernible year, just a trollish rune. He's also the one that's used to orientate new changelings in the Order's video to catch them up with the modern world, aside from someone like Otto who is clearly of a high rank (being a polymorph)

Also, the fact that Welsh was used and the name drop of Morgan le Fay was definitely foreshadowing for the finale.

**Finale.**

Another major change was the ending, actually – the Inferna Copula would have been destroyed in the fight between Stricklander and Jim. Claire would've held Angor off during this time up until his lost soul causes him to go on a rampage, and with her realising that he would likely kill them all, sacrificed herself by creating a portal. With no destination in mind, they would float in the void. She couldn't leave him in there, because he would find a way back to them, one way or another. So when grabbing the staff to leave, and Angor grabbed her leg to stop her, she pleaded that the exit would be a place of significant emotional anguish to Angor – they would've been dumped in Bulgaria's Black Sea.

I never expanded upon this storyline as I changed it so that Angor Rot kept his soul, though I can imagine it would've made any sequel material or the interactions after far more aggressive and violent – to the point it would be uncharacteristic for Rot to tolerate her any longer.

A lot of the dialogue between Claire, Angor and le Fay was changed to remove some religious undertones. Morgan spoke to Claire of a “sisterhood”, so some sentences had to be removed or changed. This one, for example:

“ _.. Therefore you must see to it that she blooms. You will care for her. Nurture her abilities – teach her as a master of the hunt.”_

Was actually:

“ _.. Therefore you must see to it that she blooms. You will care for her. It is your duty to protect her as a brother to our sisterhood and she shall be no priestess, no. A huntress is what I require.”_ and so forth.

**Little Huntress / Young Artemis.**

There's some parallels between Claire and Jim that is starting to take shape that I alluded to within the story: Jim is the champion of Merlin to Claire is the acolyte of Morgan le Fay. Angor Rot, funnily, takes the role of Draal as a mentor and guard – he will be the one to teach Claire and shape her to whatever le Fay requires. 

Artemis is one of the most well known deities of the hunt and it fit Claire's character. It was also foreshadowing of things to come, as Artemis was said to have spent  _“her girlhood seeking out the things that she would need to be a huntress,”._

* * *

 

I'm glad that so many people have enjoyed Moirai as much as I have with writing it. As for what to expect next (other than a potential sequel), I might tackle other stories set in this alternative, canon divergent universe I'm starting to build, such as Strickler's history (given how long it is), Angor Rot's role as le Fay's champion, or even something else entirely like the Creepslayerz.

 


End file.
